


Some things cosmic

by dearly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Minor Character Death, Older Sherlock, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5464916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearly/pseuds/dearly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his precocious granddaughter spends the weekend and asks for a story, Sherlock reflects on the moments that changed the course of his life and the love that shaped it before finally revealing a secret that will pass a piece of it on to the next generation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some things cosmic

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from [a song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZHdRp_dLhvM) by Angel Olsen: _If cosmic force is real at all / it's come between you and I_.  
>     
> Artwork by Rebka18: [Cover](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5470274), (spoiler alert for the following-read story first!) [First meeting](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5470805), [A great surprise](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5470997), [Lingering kiss](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5470736).

 

* * *

 

 

_Believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to…_

_For one human being to love another, that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation._

_-Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet_

 

 _The dust and debris left behind by novae and supernovae eventually blend with the surrounding interstellar gas and dust, enriching it with the heavy elements and chemical compounds produced during stellar death. Eventually, those materials are recycled, providing the building blocks for a new generation of stars and accompanying planetary systems._  

_-[NASA  
](http://science.nasa.gov/astrophysics/focus-areas/how-do-stars-form-and-evolve/)_

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

Sherlock Holmes was generally not one to be nostalgic. Having reached his seventy-fifth year, he was quite a contented man with no real wants or desires beyond that which he already had. He had no wish to revisit his younger, mistake-laden years and the pain that their memories brought. Thankfully life had given him more than enough happy memories to replace them, though at times it felt like more than he deserved. He had a wife whom he loved more than he had previously ever thought possible, children and grandchildren that he was proud to call his own, a cottage in the Sussex Downs with the beehives he’d always longed for in the city, and all the time in the world since his retirement to spend devoted to his many varying interests. But it was a weekend spent with his granddaughter that would cause him to reflect on his long life and remember the things that were easily taken for granted: the highs and lows, the people and the joy they brought to his life, the truly bizarre and outrageous events of his career as a detective as well as the simple, but just as deeply meaningful, moments spent with his family. It was truly a life lived to its fullest.

It all began with a list.

  1. _Homework must be completed FIRST._
  2. _No sweets before bedtime._
  3. _Bedtime is at 9:00. No exceptions._
  4. _No cases. (That includes ones under a 6!)_



The brief, yet still threatening, instructions were written in large, bold letters so he could nearly read it even standing across the room. It was an unnecessary detail considering his daughter had shoved the paper in front of his face that afternoon accompanied by a stern look.

“ _Dad,_ ” she’d said with such sharpness that it had wiped the smirk off his face. “ _Please_.” A farewell kiss on his cheek let him know that she wasn’t angry at his teasing, but that she just wanted to make sure he knew she was paying attention.

After they’d left, he stared at the note until the words began to blur together. The deliberateness of it made Sherlock’s skin bristle and he scoffed slightly in indignation. Exactly  _who_  was treating  _whom_  like the child here? And he may be advanced in years now but his eyesight was as sharp as ever _._ Jane of all people should know that.Or perhaps she did it in such a way so that he couldn’t give the excuse that he had simply forgotten about her instructions, which only irritated him more since the idea of following directions went against his very nature. He had to hand it to his daughter, she always was able to outwit him in the end.

People always seemed to assume so much about a person with grey hair. It was rather eye opening for him when his own curly locks had finally faded. Usually these assumptions were either that the intelligence of the person was somehow greatly diminished from what it had previously been or that the person was suddenly incapable of moving around on their own power and thus required assistance for fear that one step might break a hip. Often it was both. He had first experienced it himself in a Tesco when a baby-faced teenager at the till gave a frustrated “can I help you with that, sir” as though he was incompetent at simple maths. A scowl helped get the boy to back off but he realized for the first time how young people now viewed him. It had shaken him to his very core. Not long after as he happened to be making his way up a flight of stairs, a young girl appeared at his side offering an arm for support with a self-serving smile like she was doing him some sort of favour. With a wave of the hand he dismissed her and proceeded up the steep steps willing the rheumatism in his hip away until the girl was out of sight.

There was something about the grey hair that caused people to think he was suddenly incapable of being independent in any way. It would have been a fascinating social experiment if it hadn’t been  _he_  who was the subject. Instead, he found it infuriating. Even with an international reputation and the fame that came with it, people still now saw him as  _old_ , a dying star amidst a glittering night sky. He may be thought of as old in terms of years lived but he certainly didn’t feel it.

It wasn’t that didn’t appreciate getting older. In fact, he was happier at the present than at any other point during his life. Time had brought him wisdom, experience, friendship, and, ultimately, love. In his younger years, he had treated life as a sort of game, something that had to be conquered and won. It had been a battle, a constant struggle that had often led to him choosing harmful and dangerous pursuits, whether it was drugs to numb his brain or putting himself in situations that fed his excitement but that could also get him hurt. As he grew older, he had found satisfaction and fulfillment thanks in a large part to the people that he had accepted into his life. He learned how to allow love into his life and it had brought him a sense of peace that he had never experienced before, one that no drug or distraction could provide.

This weekend was a reminder of that love. He had just sent off his wife, daughter and son-in-law, and infant grandson in a cramped car bound for a special errand in London and had been left in charge of a very important small human.

A flurry of movement in the room interrupted his momentary reflections.

“Grandpa, what are we going to do this weekend?” The strawberry blonde ten-year-old had entered the room twirling around on her tiptoes as though she were in the midst of performing a dance routine.

Sherlock threw the piece of paper in his hand onto the kitchen counter. “Well, if it’s up to your mother, Alice, we’ll be having absolutely no enjoyment whatsoever. She’s made that quite clear with this list.”

The young girl flung herself onto a kitchen stool at the countertop and gave a resigned sigh. “Mum is worried about me getting into a good school. She makes me lists all the time about things I need to be working on.”

Sherlock took a seat on the stool across from his granddaughter and steepled his hands under his chin. “But you have several more years before you need to start worrying about GCSEs. It sounds a bit excessive.”

“I know.” Alice sighed again and rested her head on the table. “She likes to plan everything out in advance. That doesn’t even include dance classes and science camp. I think sometimes she forgets I’m just a kid.”

Jane took after her mum. Molly was always a bit obsessed when it came to planning, whether it was for scheduling her day down to the minute in her diary or for her children’s futures. At the beginning of their marriage, it had taken her awhile to learn to adjust to his more spontaneous lifestyle. Clients needed him at odd hours. Cases often sprung up out of nowhere and kept him busy for days at a time. On the other hand sometimes he would go for weeks at a time without a case. Being a consulting detective meant that one could not follow a strict schedule. She had accepted it, though it couldn’t change her natural tendencies and she had in turn passed them onto their overachieving daughter.

“I really must have a chat with your mother. School isn’t everything you know. You learn a lot from experience. I was miserable in school and look how I turned out.”

“You mean a detective?” she asked raising her head with a quizzical look on her face.

He inhaled sharply. “A  _brilliant_  detective. And I didn’t learn that from being in a classroom. I learned by doing, by observing, by living in the real world. Of course part of that was natural genius but with the grandparents that you have, you don’t have much to worry about.” He winked at her causing her to giggle.

“Let’s just hope you don’t take too much after your father’s side of the family.” Though it was meant to tease there was a bit of truth to the statement since he often found himself worrying about Stephen.

His son-in-law was a literature teacher who specialized in the Romantics and tended to have his head filled with lofty ideas concerning nature and beauty. Though Sherlock had reformed his ideas on such topics, thanks to his wife, and had learned how to appreciate the mundane details of life, he still tended to eye those who preached their merits with suspicion. Naturally Jane had taken after her parents by choosing to become a chemist. But when she announced that she was going out with a “dreamy” English student at uni Sherlock had felt an actual pang in his chest. His daughter, his  _first-born_  child, with some sort of absentminded future literature professor? To be honest he probably would have felt Jane was too good for anybody, but it was still hard to accept. In the end, Stephen had proven to be a kind, generous, and, yes,  _intelligent_  man, not to mention a good father, and Sherlock and Molly loved him dearly, but it didn’t stop him from being anxious about how his grandchildren were raised. 

“ _So_ ,” he said drawing out the word, “speaking of homework? Have you completed it?”

“Almost,” Alice admitted while trying to stifle a yawn. “I just have a bit of maths to do. That bit always takes the longest.”

“Well, maybe…” he said with a raised eyebrow and an inflection that caused her eyes to widen. “ _Maybe_ , we can put that off for a bit. It’s Friday after all. You still have two more days to work on it.”

“Yes!” she shouted, jumping off the stool and falling dramatically to the floor. Sherlock couldn’t help but chuckle at her antics.

His daughter wouldn’t approve but for the moment there was nothing she could do about it. It was still his house after all, his rules.

Sherlock had never been a great disciplinarian. Contrary to popular opinion he was rather soft, especially when it came to his family and his children. People expected him to be the strict parent and were always surprised to find out that that person was, in fact, Molly. She was the rule enforcer, the time-out giver, the healthy snacks advocate. She was one who set bedtimes, made sure they ate together as a family, and that everyone got their homework done before watching telly. Sherlock was the one that fudged the rules, let the kids stay up late on school nights, and slipped them sweets as a reward for eating all of their veggies. All it took was one pleading look from his child and his iron fist turned to rubber. Their differing parenting methods were the source of most their arguments, and considering what many couples fought about it was not the worst issue on which they could disagree.

“Alright, Alice, what would you like to do first?”

“Beach!” she shouted without hesitation.

Decisive. He appreciated that. “Beach it is then.”

Though the weather was far too chilly for a dip in the sea, Alice insisted that Sherlock bring along a few beach towels just like as they did when she visited during summer holidays.

After grabbing one for each of them, he looked around in the kitchen for a snack to bring along, as no doubt their walk would work up an appetite. Alice and her parents had driven directly from her school so she’d most likely not eaten since lunchtime. A quick inventory of the cabinets and pantry came up empty for treats that would please a ten-year-old palate, but when he opened the fridge a surprise in the form of two wrapped sandwiches awaited him. A note was attached.

_I know you’ll need these later for the beach._

_xxx_

_M_

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning like a fool.  _His wife_. Prepared as always. The only person in the world who had ever figured him out. A woman who knew him better than he knew himself. How did he ever have the good fortune to end up the one person who suited him better than any other? He took the note and stuck it into the pocket of his trousers knowing that he was being sentimental but not really caring that he was. It was a small confirmation of just how far his outlook had changed.

“Ready?” Alice appeared at his side with her backpack slung over her shoulder. It was bright pink and covered in skulls. He felt a satisfied twinge in his soul.

“Ready.”

Before they had even made it to the end of the cottage driveway Alice slipped her hand into Sherlock’s and began to ramble about her friends, school, and anything else that happened to occur to her at the moment. He listened thoughtfully and made the appropriate responses though it was rather challenging trying to keep track of why Amanda was angry at Jasmine and what exactly Peter had done in class to earn a detention. It’d been awhile since he’d had to deal with the social politics of ten-year-olds. 

When they had made it nearly halfway down the grassy lane, Alice stopped suddenly mid-speech and turned to face him blocking the sun with her free hand. “How did you meet Grandmum?”

The abruptness of the question startled him and caused him to nearly lose his footing. “I think I told you once before that we met at Barts where she worked and where I spent a lot of time while working on cases.”

“Yeah, I know  _that_ , but how did you fall in love? When did you know she was the one? Was it love at first sight?”

“Well…no to your last question. And frankly I think the idea of love at first sight is a ridiculous notion that—”

“But you must have  _liked_  her right away,” she interrupted impatiently with her brow furrowed.

“Liked her?”  _Liked_ her _?_

“I did,” he said wistfully as the memory of that meeting long ago came to mind, “I liked her more than I even knew it at the time. It’s actually quite strange because I think we bonded before I even realized what had happened.”

 

* * *

 

**2009**

 

It was her voice that he heard first.

He was seated at the microscope in the Barts lab with a collection of petri dishes spread out in front of him. They contained a variety of bacterial samples and had been carefully incubating for months as he monitored their progress.  Though it was not an unwelcome activity he still found himself glancing every few minutes at his phone on the table and willing Lestrade to ring with something more interesting for him to do.

These days his down time was either spent at Barts where he wasted the dull hours away on various experiments, or, as a last resort, at his damp and cramped flat where the silence nearly drove him mad. He’d just been alerted that the building was being closed for renovations at the end of the year and while it should have pleased him the thought of finding new lodgings and a flatmate instead made him yearn for his syringe. He’d been clean for nearly a year, the longest period since his early uni days. Lestrade was finally starting to trust him with more significant murder cases so he had to will himself to find other distractions from the monotony of daily life. When in doubt, he turned to science to serve that purpose.

The lab door behind him swung open and the sounds of two female voices filled the room momentarily distracting him from his agitation. One of the voices belonged to Caroline, the lab technician whom he tried to avoid at all costs because she didn’t seem to know how to ever be silent. The other voice though was unfamiliar to him. Instead of turning around to get a glimpse of the stranger and satisfy his curiosity, he listened. The voice was quieter, softer. Late twenties, no distinguishable accent, probably born in or spent most of her time in London. 

The two women didn’t seem to have noticed him because they continued on with their conversation.

“You should totally come with us though. You’ve met Chris before and I know that he’s super into you,” Caroline pleaded.

“I don’t know,” there was clear hesitation in the woman’s voice, “he’s not really my type.”

“Please, Molly. You  _have_  to.”  _Molly_. He had a name for the voice now. “We’ll go to a club, get some drinks,  _dance_. How could it not be fun?”

The other woman,  _Molly_ , sighed.

At this point, he couldn’t stop himself from interjecting.

“It’ll also give you a forty-five percent chance of catching a virus. At this time of year with the flu running rampant, spending any amount of time in a closed-in space where you are in close quarters with hundreds of people, is practically begging for an illness.”

He heard them gasp upon realizing they were not alone in the room and turned around with a look of amusement. After her initial surprise, Caroline scowled at him and looked as if she’d like to strangle him for interfering with her plans.

But he was not interested in Caroline. He focused instead on the other woman,  _Molly_. She was petite with long brown hair that was tied in a plait and hung down the front of her lab coat. Late twenties seemed likely. Her brown eyes studied him carefully.  _Curious_  but not displeased.

“Nobody asked for your opinion, Sherlock.” Caroline’s distaste for him was audible. “Oh, Molly, this is Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective and utter arse.”

He smiled with sarcastic sweetness at Caroline but softened slightly when he looked back at Molly.

“Oh hi. I’m a new pathologist here, well, not really new  _here_ , but I’m just starting my specialist training, so new to the morgue at least.” She smiled brightly. He looked down at the nametag on her lab coat pocket.  _Molly Hooper, specialist registrar._

He nodded politely and she continued. “So you’re a detective?”

“Consulting,” he added. Caroline rolled her eyes at him and folded her arms impatiently.

“Listen, Moll, my lunch break is almost over, but you’ll call me about tonight, right?”

Molly hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m really busy right now with the new job and…everything.”

“Well, just keep it in mind then. I’ll talk to you later.” She glanced back at Sherlock. “And whatever you do don’t listen to Sherlock. He’s not exactly the person to be giving dating advice. In fact, he’s probably the very last person you should ever ask.”

Caroline gave him one final glare before leaving the two of them alone.

Molly swallowed, looking nervous for the first time, and took a step closer to examine what he was doing. “So you’re the one doing the skin microbial experiment. I’ve been keeping an eye out for your samples. Ben was going to throw them out the other day, but I stopped him. I thought they might be important.”

“Oh,  _um_ , yes. They are.”

She nodded awkwardly. It was only later that he realized he probably should have thanked her for saving his experiment.

“So you work for the police?”

“ _With_  the police. When they are at their wit’s end. Which is often.”

She gave a short laugh causing her whole face to light up. “I see.” A smile flickered at the corners of his own mouth. 

“Well, have fun with your experiment. I’m needed in the morgue. Don’t want to keep my patients waiting,” she laughed nervously at her own joke. “See you later, Sherlock.”

As she walked out of the lab, the smile he’d been holding back spread across his face and was only wiped away only at the sound of his phone ringing. Lestrade’s name lit up on the screen.

 _At last_ , a case.

Unfortunately, his excitement turned out to be short lived. The case turned out to be nothing more than a straightforward murder resulting from a drug deal gone wrong. The culprit was apprehended and confessed before Sherlock was even done examining the body. It had been a complete waste of time and he’d stalked off in disgust before Lestrade was even finished briefing him.

He arrived back at his flat angry and in need of a distraction. Unfortunately there was nothing awaiting him but a maddening silence interrupted only by the occasional drop of water from his leaky faucet. Never before had craved for a hit in his veins like he did right at that moment. Something,  _anything_ , to quiet his mind and settle his nerves was all he desired. Mycroft had managed to scare away all of his suppliers but surely it couldn’t be too difficult to find a new source. No matter how hard his brother tried Mycroft would never be able to completely erase the threat of temptation from his life.

In the midst of his mental struggle, the buzzer to his flat sounded jolting him back to reality. He thought about ignoring it at first, but the hope of another case made him decide to answer it. Hesitantly he made his way over to the door and pressed the button to the intercom.

“Yes?” he hissed into the speaker.

“Um…hi, it’s Molly – Molly Hooper – from Barts? I-I came across this article after you left on a new study of microbes in forensic science that I thought you might find interesting for your research. I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you I—”

He pressed the button to let her in before she could finish surprising himself. He could have easily scared her away, normally he would have, but there was something about her voice that he found soothing especially with the state of his mind at the present. The nervous anxiety he had been feeling earlier had seemed to somewhat subside.

When he opened the door to the flat, she was standing there calmly with a nervous, but not at all forced, smile. Her brown eyes showed a hint of concern. When he realized he was staring, he held the door open to allow her inside. He watched her closely as she looked around his crammed flat. Whatever she was thinking, she didn’t let on.

“I got your address from Mike. I hope that’s okay.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a manila folder which she handed to him.

He flipped it open. The article was printed from a science journal and titled  _Forensic Identification Using Skin Bacterial Communities._

“I…appreciate it,” he stammered rather stupidly.

Her smiled brightened at the appreciation. “It’s no trouble. So, um, are you busy right now?”

“I…um…”

She interrupted before he could come up with an excuse. “I’m just asking because my friend Meena and I are meeting up for a quick drink. You’re welcome to come along, if you’re free that is.”

“No Chris then?” he asked raising an eyebrow at her.

Molly blushed and fiddled with her scarf. “I finally worked up the courage to tell Caroline that I don’t want to see him again. Let’s just say she wasn’t exactly pleased to hear that. I don’t know if she’s going to be speaking to me for a while. I think she already had our wedding all planned out.”

“Ah.” He nodded.

“Thanks for speaking up earlier in the lab.”

“I was just stating the facts. Your chances of getting sick at this time of year are always higher.”

“I know but…thanks. Anyways, we’re still going to risk it by going to a pub. Maybe we’ll get lucky and all the germs will stay on the dancefloors at the clubs.” She giggled softly before biting her lip. “You want to come along then?" 

“Uh…no.” The disappointment on her face was instantaneous.  Strangely he felt a need to try and appease her. “I’m…busy.” 

“Oh, right, of course. Sorry.” She looked around again and no doubt could tell he was fibbing. “Well if you change your mind or want to come along another time—”

She reached again into her large tote bag and pulled out a pen with which she used to scribble something onto a newspaper that lay on the table.

“There’s my number. Give me a call…whenever.”

The colour in her cheeks deepened as she looked up at him once more before heading straight for the door.

“I’ll see you around then.”

He didn’t know what to say as the circumstance felt completely foreign to him so he just gave a sharp nod and regretted it instantly.

After she was gone, he picked up the newspaper and added the number to his mobile feeling that it was somehow very necessary.

But for some strange reason he knew he would need it eventually.

The thought of cocaine was pushed aside as he sat down to read about the new study in bacterial forensics, a trace of a smile lingering on his face.

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

They reached the vacant beach where the chilly breeze was blowing sharply in from the water and swirling around the cliffs. The extra jumpers they had brought along were suddenly very appreciated. As soon as they stepped onto the sand, Alice immediately flung off her trainers and ran to the edge of the ocean to dip her feet in. 

“It’s freezing,” she shouted over the wind as she danced around in the water. “Come on, Grandpa, don’t be a wimp!”

He shrugged and followed his granddaughter’s orders by removing his shoes and marching determinedly toward the foamy water. Alice hadn’t exaggerated. Once their feet were sufficiently frozen they warmed themselves by strolling along the beach to look for shells. Sherlock pointed out the different breeds of birds swooping down from the tall cliffs looking for prey and laughed when Alice tried unsuccessfully to chase after them.

When Alice’s pockets were filled to capacity with shells, they found a sheltered spot near the rocks and settled on the beach towels to eat the sandwiches that Molly had made.

“Grandmum’s always taste the best. I try to get Mum to make them the same way, but they never taste as good. How does she do it?”

“To be honest, I have no idea. I’ve watched her do it and have replicated it exactly and yet…” He shrugged. “She must have the magic touch.”

“So when did you know you were in love with her?” Alice said looking up in between bites. A trace of mayonnaise clung to her cheek.

Sherlock used the edge of the towel to wipe off her face. “So you’re still thinking about this?”

Alice nodded enthusiastically. She had a look in her eyes that he’d seen many times before with her mother and with Molly. It was a look of sheer determination. She was going to get the answer out of him one way or another.

“May I ask what inspired this sudden curiosity about your grandparents?” he asked suddenly intrigued.

“Well, we had to do this report on our parents and their jobs for school and I was asking Mum about when she met dad and it was sort of…”

“Disappointing?”

“…Typical.” They said at the same time.

“Ah.” Sherlock nodded. Alice agreed with a noise of disgust and stuffed the rest of the sandwich into her mouth.

“I mean they met through friends in a pub at uni. Dull. Everybody’s parents meets like that. When I told Mum so she said I should ask you about how you met Grandmum because it was totally different. So I am.” She looked at him expectantly, just waiting for him to share the whole story and appease her curiosity. 

“I see,” he mused while casually hiding the rush of pride at the idea of having a remarkable story. “So you want to know everything?”

“ _Everything_. And don’t leave out any of the good bits,” she added rather sternly.

“Well I don’t know about that,” he said recalling certain things he’d done with Molly that no ten-year-old should know about, “but I’ll tell you as much as I can remember.” As much as he hated himself for pulling the memory loss excuse, it did come in useful when dealing with children’s curiosities.

“Okay…” Alice began as she sat up straighter. “So you met at the hospital where Grandmum worked and you didn’t fall in love with her at first. So you did… _when_?” Sherlock wouldn’t have been surprised if Alice had whipped out a notebook and pen since it felt a bit like an interrogation.

He leaned backwards letting his hands dig into the cool sand and stared out at the waves as he gave the question serious consideration. It was one he had pondered over countless times before. When was one  _in love_? How did one get to that point? There were so many small moments with Molly that had taken on so much meaning that it was hard to say when it all began. He’d been so confused by the concept of love for so long that he wasn’t quite sure when it all changed.

“It happened very gradually so it’s hard to pick an exact moment. We worked so well together that I just took what we had for granted. I just thought we were good working partners, like John and I were, and that was all. There was one time at a Baker Street Christmas party when I made a rather nasty comment to Molly and instantly regretted the fact that I’d hurt her. I’d never felt anything like that before, that instant remorse and guilt. I think I shocked everyone in the room by apologizing to her but I really meant it for the first time in my life. But there was another moment when I was hunting after Moriarty when it really hit me. I  _needed_  her, not only for her help in the lab with my experiments and cases or even for defeating a mastermind criminal, but as a person in my life. I just needed  _her_.”

 

* * *

 

**2011**

 

_I don’t count._

Even though he was in the back of a police car en route to find two children kidnapped by Moriarty, a rather pressing case if not  _the_  biggest case he’d ever been involved with, he couldn’t get the image of Molly out of his head.

 _Molly_ , his right hand woman at Barts whose cheery personality strangely never seemed to put him off.

She was the only person besides John with whom he’d ever worked well with. John was someone whose presence made Sherlock a better detective. They had a natural bond and a good working relationship. He’d always thought that he worked better on his own until John came along. With John it became clear that it was useful to have someone to bounce around ideas with, even if that person wasn’t quite up to his level intelligence-wise. It didn’t hurt that John had a thorough knowledge of and practice in medicine which helped fill in the areas that Sherlock lacked by not having attending medical school.  And in an even more personal way John had become a friend—a  _best_  friend, a person who Sherlock was very glad to have in his life. His life had been made better because of John being a part of it.

But Molly was different. Molly counted in a way he hadn’t ever quite pinpointed. She’d been there before John. She was smart and capable. She was always there when he needed and never questioned his intentions. He needed her and she thought she didn’t count.

His first thought at her words was almost one of anger. How  _could_  she? Of all people how could  _she_  say that?

But then it hit him. He’d never said or done anything for her to  _not_  think the contrary.

It was his fault. Besides the occasional off-handed or rushed “thank you” what else had he ever done to show his appreciation for her? Nothing. If he died tomorrow, Molly would never know her own importance to him.

There was nothing he could change about it at the moment, but as they pulled in front of the abandoned factory he found it a little harder refocusing on the case at hand.

 

*********

 _If you ever need anything, you can have me._  

As soon as Moriarty’s face appeared in Kitty Riley’s flat the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. He understood the goal of the plan now. Moriarty wanted to destroy him completely. His reputation, his life, the lives of those closest to him,  _everything_ , and he wasn’t going to quit until he accomplished what he had set out to do from the beginning. Moriarty always got his way.

The second thought that flashed through his mind once he exited the building and stepped onto the pavement, and not surprising given that she had been on his mind that whole day, was Molly. Kind, caring Molly who always offered her assistance even though he didn’t deserve it. She thought she didn’t count but she couldn’t be more wrong.

His mind was made up. He would set things right. He needed her, but it was more than that. He needed her to know what she meant to him. There was a chance he might die soon and if there was one thing he needed to do first it was this.

_You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you._

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

“So Grandmum helped you fake your death? How?” Alice said throwing her backpack over her shoulder.

Together they shook the sand from the towels before heading back up the rocky path.

“I can’t give away all my secrets, and not to mention the whole plan was quite complicated and would take hours to explain, but let’s just say that without her I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you,” he said pausing to catch his breath. The steep incline served as a reminder that he was not a young man anymore as much as he tried to ignore it.            

Alice grinned at him with a devilish sparkle in her eye. “Did she break the law?”

Sherlock laughed. “Well, helping someone fake a death when you are a pathologist is not going to earn you any favours. Nobody ever found out because nobody keeps a secret like your grandmother can, but yes, she risked her job for me and for that I could never repay her.”

At last they reached the top of the cliff and both paused to take in the sight. The crashing waves below now seemed miles away. The sky had turned to a dusky shade of pink as the sun had begun to set. It was moments like this, gazing at the beauty and power of nature, that Sherlock had learned how to fully appreciate. He had learned peace and patience and living in the moment with the people he loved.

He looked at his granddaughter who gazed at the sky in silent awe and rested a hand on her shoulder. Alice wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned her head against him. He wouldn’t trade this moment for a lifetime of adventures.

When the last bit of colour faded from the sky, they headed back home with Alice immediately slipping back into interrogation mode.

“Did you see her when you were away for two years?”

“No, but we stayed somewhat in touch with a little help from my brother. A few letters and notes here and there.”

“You wrote Grandmum love letters and Uncle Mycroft delivered them?” Alice’s face perked up and Sherlock felt guilty for having to dash her high hopes.

“I’m afraid they were hardly love letters or even letters at all. Mostly the messages were just a few discrete lines about what was happening at Barts or with John and Mrs. Hudson or where I happened to be at the time. We had to be extremely careful that no one would be able to trace the information.” Sherlock’s voice faded out as a memory of a certain letter came to mind. “There was however one lengthy message which Molly was able to slip past Mycroft that went into far greater depth about her feelings then she’d ever shared before. It reached me at a time when I desperately needed it and one of the first things I did when I got back was to thank her for sending it. I believe in some way that it saved my life.”

 

* * *

 

**2012**

 

It was only when he looked down at his torn jeans and saw the blood seeping through that he realized how close he’d been to getting killed. He just barely managed to limp back to his nondescript hotel room and silently prayed that he hadn’t been seen. The pain shot up his leg with every step he took, but he could only grimace it away while cursing under his breath. Using a scrap of cloth from the bed sheets that would likely not be missed as they appeared to not been changed in weeks, he made a makeshift bandage to tie around the wound and elevated his foot to slow the bleeding. It needed a good cleaning with disinfectant and probably a stitch or two but he didn’t have that luxury at the moment.

The last of Moriarty’s Russian contacts had been taken care of. While it was little cause for celebration, it was one step closer to getting back to London. He’d been traveling for months and the time away from home was beginning to wear on him. The initial excitement and adventure had lost its thrill. The endless grind of traveling and hiding in seedy rented rooms, with some nights even having to sleep outside in the damp cold, had taken its toll. Sometimes the only thing that got him out of bed in the morning was his vow to Molly.

_“You have to promise to come back.”_

_“I promise.”_

_“In one piece.”_

_“I will.”_

It was the last conversation they’d had before he jumped off the roof. If there was one thing he wouldn’t do, it would be to disappoint Molly  _again_.

But that had been months ago. Sometimes he wondered if it would be better for everyone if he  _didn’t_  return. By now they had all moved on with their lives. Their grief had turned into acceptance that he was dead and gone.

With a groan, he reached for the disposable phone sitting on the nightstand. Just as he had expected there was a new text awaiting him.

_Head to St. Petersburg for your next assignment. Updates from London included._

His heart started to race upon reading the second sentence. It was Mycroft’s veiled way of letting him know that Molly had written. Before he’d left, Molly had talked Mycroft into letting her send him notes from home. Initially Mycroft had refused saying it wasn’t important, but after Molly’s impassioned speech he’d given in. And Sherlock was grateful for her insistence. Besides Mycroft’s minimal texts, the short notes from her were the only contact he had with home. He could only send short replies back through Mycroft due to the danger of leaking information, but he hoped it was better than nothing.

As soon as his leg stopped bleeding, he was on the next train to St. Petersburg without a second’s delay. When he arrived, the cab was waiting for him outside the station. No one watching would have ever known that it was an MI-6 agent behind the wheel. He was handed a manila folder which he immediately stuffed into his jacket.

“Where to, sir?”

“The Taleon, and quickly please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Occasionally he picked the most expensive hotel in the city as a reward for making progress. His mood improved greatly just thinking about Mycroft getting the bill.

After checking in with the fake identification and credit cards that had been included in the folder, he went straight to the room to examine the rest of its contents.

He dumped the folder onto the bed and out fluttered two sheets of paper. On the top was a mostly blank page with Mycroft’s short coded message neatly typed out. His next assignment was in Minsk. He was to arrive the following evening and pay a surprise visit to a Mr. Vishnevsky _._

The paper underneath, however, was what captured his attention. It was handwritten, one page front and back in her loopy writing. He fell backwards onto the bed and began to read.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_If you’re reading this, it means I was able to slip it past Mycroft (with some help from Anthea) instead of my usual brief words of encouragement. I hope that it doesn’t cause any breach in national security. The last thing I want is to jeopardize your safety in any way. Either way it’s probably best that Mycroft doesn’t find out about this. I think it might push him over the edge with all the stress he’s been under trying to plan everything. Though he doesn’t show it, I know he worries about you. Greatly. I’m pretty sure he’s put on several pounds since you’ve left. I probably haven’t helped matters by baking for him. When I discovered his weakness for cake, I may have tested out a few recipes on him. Some of them even earned a smile in response, which as you know for Mycroft is high praise. But don’t worry I’m keeping an eye on him for you._

_I don’t really see John or Mrs. Hudson these days. It breaks my heart to think of them grieving and in pain. I’m bursting to give them the good news that you are alive, but that’s the last thing I can do right now. Perhaps it’s best that we’ve all kept our distance no matter how much it might hurt._

_Work has returned back to normal, or as normal as it could be after what happened. People have finally stopped asking me if I’m okay. I must have been fairly convincing if it has taken them this long. The strange thing is that I never found it difficult to act as if it’s real. It doesn’t feel like acting. In a way I am grieving.  It feels like you actually died. Maybe it’s because everyone else believes it and I find myself believing it too because you aren’t here._

_I feel quite selfish writing this, but a few lines here and there are simply not enough. I want to know everything. Are you safe? Are you healthy? Are you making progress? Are you taking care of yourself? I know you can’t answer back, but just putting these words to paper and knowing that you’ll read them makes me feel a little better._

_I miss you. London feels much colder without you in it. The lab, the morgue, my flat, everywhere feels empty. Don’t forget your promise to me. You must come home. You must._  

_I will be here waiting for you when you do._

_Yours as always,_

_Molly_

The tears clung to his lower eyelids as he let the paper fall back onto the bed. He knew he had to destroy it, but for the moment he couldn’t let it go. He didn’t sleep that night and instead reread the letter until he had it fully memorized down to the way she signed her name. In the morning just before checking out, he took out a lighter and turned the paper to ashes before flushing them down the drain. It nearly broke him to do it.

The timing of the letter had been too perfect, almost as if she had read his mind and knew exactly what he needed at that moment. It was more than a mere coincidence. It had to be.

He set off for Belarus with fresh determination to finish off Moriarty’s network of criminals and return to the home, and the people, that he yearned for so desperately.

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

“So when you got back you found out that Grandmum was engaged and you never got to tell her you loved her back? That’s sad.” Alice frowned as she stomped up the path to the cottage trying to get the last bit of sand out of her shoes. He could visualize the wheels turning inside her head as she tried to sort out the timeline of the story.

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. I wasn’t in love with Molly just yet. I mean I loved her, but I wasn’t  _in_  love with her.”

She cocked her head in confusion. “But you told her she mattered the most to you?”

He stared at her, blinking his eyes rapidly. “Where did you hear that?”

Alice gave him a smug smile, her enjoyment clearly evident. “Grandmum told me once when she was visiting us in the city. We were in a cab and passing by some flats and she said that it was there that she knew she’d made a mistake getting engaged to Tom, or whatever his name was. On that day you spent solving crimes after you came back.”

“Did she now? Hmm. I remember that day well.” That was an understatement.

“And she said she would’ve gotten dinner with you that night if you hadn’t broken things off so quickly,” Alice continued, looking very pleased for having found out the information herself.

Sherlock mimed a look of surprise but the truth was that he had already known that bit of the story. That day they spent solves cases was one of the first matters they had discussed after they began their relationship. Both had left Howard Shilcott’s flat with regrets of many thoughts left unspoken. Their first order of business had been to clear the air and say exactly what had been on their minds that day. It turned out that those feelings had been mutual.

Sherlock unlocked the door and let them both inside the warm house. As Alice ran off to the guest room to stash away the shells she had collected, Sherlock walked through the long central hallway and out the back door to hang their damp towels out to dry. When he re-entered the house with the thought of that day spent with Molly still fresh on his mind, he found himself lingering at their bedroom door, looking at the space with fresh eyes.

It felt strange to be in the room alone. It’d been so long since the two of them had spent a night apart. Early in their relationship their jobs with odd hours and traveling schedules occasionally kept them apart, sometimes for days at a time, but ever since their retirement and move to Sussex they were almost never separated. In his younger days, Sherlock never would have imagined a need for the constant presence of another person in his life. Molly had changed his whole outlook. Once they were together he could never imagine spending his life alone. It wasn’t simply that she was always  _there_ , in the flat, at Bart’s, or wherever they happened to be, rather it was more surprising to him that he wanted to  _share_  his life with her. It wasn’t like having a flatmate as it had been with John, instead it was two lives coming together to create something entirely new. He didn’t like to be separated from her for very long. It made him feel unsettled like a piece of him wasn’t where it should be.

Their bedroom was their sanctuary. It was kept neat and tidy, the only room that could be described as minimalistic. They still slept in the same bed, still held each other close at night. When he read articles about older couples with separate bedrooms, he couldn’t imagine living the same. Holding Molly as she slept was one of the greatest pleasures in his life. He loved waking up next to her and the lazy mornings where they each waited for the other to get up first.

Alice appeared suddenly in the doorway. “Are you thinking about her, Grandpa?”

He smiled. “When you love a person, you’re always thinking about them in one way or another.”

Alice nodded, but she couldn’t possibly understand what he meant until she was older and had experienced that love herself.

“So,” he said changing the subject, “how about some dinner? I think we’ve earned it after that excursion.”

“Can I make it?” Alice clasped her hands together and bounced on her toes.

“You?”

“I’m quite good, I promise.”

“Well, alright. What’d you have in mind?”

“Breakfast. It’s what Dad and I always make when Mum’s away.”

“I think we can manage that. Breakfast for dinner it is then. Lead the way, chef.”

Alice proved to be quite the accomplished cook. Sherlock was impressed with her mastery of the kitchen. He assisted her by managing the stove and chopping the vegetables, but she assembled the rest of the ingredients and even flipped the omelets herself.

“It’s not often that I’m impressed with food, I’m no  _gourmand_ , but Alice you’ve really hit the mark with this one,” he said after taking a bite from the dish she’d laid in front of him.

“Thanks, dad taught me everything.”

“Stephen, really? Well, perhaps I’ve judged him unfairly.”

“He’s not as good as you though. When you do cook, that is.”

Sherlock tried to hide a smile. It was one of his secret talents. Most people assumed he was a rubbish cook, but really he was just a lazy one. When the occasion called for it, he could whip up a decent meal that would satisfy even the harshest of food snobs. Cooking was simply just another science.

“So what happened after you came back and Grandmum was engaged?” Alice said returning to the table with a carton of milk.

“Well, nothing really, not for awhile. John got married during that time which proved to be a useful distraction though I wasn’t keen on having things change.”

“You didn’t want to lose your best friend?”

“Everything was different after that. Marriage changes people.” He smiled thinking of Mrs. Hudson’s words to him on the day of the wedding. “I discovered that for myself much later on. Once John and Mary’s wedding was over with I found myself needing a case as a distraction and I found the one that would change my life forever.”

“Mr. Magnussen?”

“Uh, yes as a matter of fact. How did you kn—"

“And you shot him, didn’t you? To protect Uncle John and Aunt Mary?”

Sherlock blinked rapidly. “Who tells you these things?”

“No one. There’s a thing called the Internet. I just figured out the rest with the bits that people have told me. It wasn’t that difficult.”

“Ah.” He’d forgotten that children were now born using computers practically from the moment they arrived. Mobile phones had been cast aside in favour of watches and wearable technology and there was even talk of chips implanted in the skin that would do away with having to carry or wear a device at all. He had always considered himself to be on the cutting edge of new technological advances but as he’d grown older he found it more and more difficult keeping up with the constantly changing times.

“I suppose I should have warned you beforehand about searching for me online. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. Killing Magnussen was only the last resort. If there was anything I could have done differently I would have, but I had made a horrible mistake. Your aunt Mary had done things in her life that meant that dangerous people were after her. I was left with only one choice when it came to protecting her and John from those people. It should never have led to that, but it was the only option I had at that point. I want you to know, Alice, that what I did was wrong.”

“But you don’t regret it, do you?”

“Given the alternative and the choices I had, no I don’t.”

“So you were going to be sent away as punishment but Moriarty’s face showed on every telly in London and stopped you from going?”

“You really did read  _all_  those articles online, didn’t you?”

“Every single one I could find. Even the  _Daily Mail_  ones with all the crazy theories. Did you tell Grandmum you were being sent away?”

Sherlock paused and carefully set his fork on his plate. He couldn’t think about that moment without a twinge of pain and regret.

“Not exactly.”

 

* * *

 

**2014**

 

“It’s been decided,” Mycroft’s voice sounded before he appeared at the doorway of the tiny holding cell. 

“Let me guess, I’m being sent off on that MI-6 mission you conveniently just happened to bring up at Christmas,” Sherlock said firmly.

“You’re lucky to even be getting this. The alternatives were either solitary confinement in this jail or worse - house arrest. Imagine being stuck in that flat of yours with Mrs. Hudson blathering on at you twenty-four hours a day for the next two years of your life.”

Sherlock shuddered at the thought. “Dreadful.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I suppose I should be thanking you.”

“But you won’t,” Mycroft said with a sneer.

“It is necessary?”

Mycroft glared. “You will be leaving the country in one week. You are free to go for now but I suggest for the time being that you stick close to Baker Street. While the general population may be thrilled about not having to deal with Magnussen anymore, there may be a few who are still loyal to him and would like to see you come to harm. You will have a guard at the door to guarantee your safety until your departure—” 

“And to make sure I don’t leave town,” Sherlock cut in.

“Oh I don’t think you could escape anywhere that I couldn’t find you,” Mycroft said with a smirk. “Especially now that I know about  _all_  of your boltholes.”

Sherlock stood and adjusted his coat. “Well, I suppose I’ll just be going then.”

He started for the door, but Mycroft stepped into his path preventing him from advancing further. “I suggest you…tie up any loose ends you may have with the people here as you will likely never be seeing them again.”

Sherlock swallowed. “I’ll be sure to mention it to John and Mary.”

Mycroft stepped forward again until inches separated them. “ _Everyone_.”

“And Mrs. Hudson.”

“You know who I mean.”

The two brothers stared at each other.

“You must tell her,” Mycroft spoke at last breaking the silence.

Sherlock’s witty retorts dried up in his throat. He now understood that his brother had been aware of everything. He should have known, but…

“You are never going to see her again.”

Sherlock’s jaw involuntarily clenched. “Yes, I believe we’ve already gone over that.”

“It’s time to own up to your feelings, for her sake at least.”

He hated it, everything about this moment. The fact that Mycroft was correct, the fact that he was going to have to leave her, the very thought made him nauseous. He hated  _feeling_  and wished he could somehow avoid the pain that was already sinking in.

After a long final stare at his brother, he stalked out of the holding cell and was escorted to the back of the police station and into a waiting car that took him back to Baker Street.

He tried for the next few days to formulate the words to say to her, but nothing sounded right. He thought about writing her and even put the pen to paper only to end up throwing the half-written letter into the fire.

He’d already caused her enough pain. The last thing he wanted to do was leave her with more.

His phone rang the night before his departure. When he saw her name lit up on the screen, the feeling of dread overcame him.  He couldn’t bring himself to answer because he knew hearing her voice would break him, the final nail in the coffin. She’d heard the news by now. He’d asked John and Mary to tell her before she could hear about it on the television first. After his conversation with Mycroft, he asked them again to tell her about him leaving town. What she didn’t know though was that he wouldn’t be returning.

It was better this way. Or so he told himself.

The next morning he woke, dressed, walked out of his flat without a look back and into the waiting car.

He turned off his emotions, distanced himself from all feelings, and said goodbye to his brother and Mary, and finally to his best friend. The sadness started to creep back as he shook John’s hand but he managed to hold it together by laughing it off.

But what he thought would be forever only ended up lasting for ten minutes. The shock of seeing Moriarty’s face was nothing compared to the relief he felt when he realized it meant he would be staying.

When the plane touched down, the emotions that he’d been holding back escaped and he wept.

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

“I can’t believe you were too scared to say goodbye to Grandmum.” Alice scolded when he walked into the living room. She was sprawled across the couch and looking through an album of family photos.

He shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve never been too good when it comes to saying goodbye. Just ask John.”

“Luckily you did come back.”

“ _Luckily_ ,” he echoed. “And I have Lord Moran to thank for that.”

“Why did he use Moriarty to get you to come back? And why did he even need you there in the first place?”

“Moran had a huge ego. He wanted to bring me down along with the whole of London and he knew using Moriarty would force me back. It was the last thing anyone ever expected. Since Moriarty was long dead, Moran knew the shock of seeing his face would send London into a panic. It worked. Ultimately though he wasn’t nearly as smart as Moriarty when it came to carrying out his plan. Frankly, the whole thing was rather disappointing. Once we had him cornered he just…gave up. But if it wasn’t for your grandmother he might have taken me down with him.”

 

* * *

 

**2015**

 

“Just because you stopped my plan once before doesn’t mean you’ll be able to again.” Moran’s grip on the gun tightened as his finger adjusted on the trigger. 

Sherlock knew that he just needed to keep Moran talking and, as much as possible, avoid riling him up too much. He needed enough time to plan how he was going to outsmart him.

“I really must thank you for bringing me back. Your little Moriarty scare proved to be just the thing I needed to be able to stay in England.”

“I brought you back so you could witness first hand what I planned to do last November.” A layer of sweat glistened off Moran’s forehead in the dim light of the alleyway.

“It didn’t work, though, did it?”

“Shut up,” Moran yelled before controlling his rage. “I’ll show everyone what I’m capable of.”

Sherlock eyes flickered briefly away from Moran to the deserted streets around them. “Not much of an audience here I’m afraid.” He regretted the words instantly because he knew it would only further anger Moran. “Perhaps you should have let Moriarty stay dead. All you’ve managed to do is prove that you’re not him and never will be. It’s over, Moran. Your plan didn’t work.”

Moran hissed through his teeth. “It’s not over. It  _will_  work.” There was desperation in his eyes though that hinted that he didn’t quite believe his own words. He may not admit it but he knew he was finished.

But though Moran’s overall plan had failed, he still had a few moments left to take out his rival once and for all and that’s what concerned Sherlock most as he eyed the gun in his hands.

“It will work,” he repeated with more determination, “because you will no longer be here to disrupt me. I shouldn’t have brought you back. That was my mistake.”

“But you did.”

Their standoff continued with each second feeling more like an hour. Just as Sherlock was in the middle of gauging whether he could lunge at Moran before he could get a shot off, several armed officers suddenly ran around the side of the building ordering Moran to drop his weapon.

There was a brief moment of shock before Moran’s face twisted into a devilish grin.

“You came prepared then. So nice of your friends to join us.”

Moran glanced at the officers who began a countdown. The grin on his face disappeared as he accepted his defeat.

“Well done. You’ve beaten me again. It’s been an honor. Truly.”

Before Sherlock could react, Moran turned the gun on himself and fired. Ending it himself before the law could touch him.  _Just like Moriarty_.

Lestrade pulled up in a police car minutes after the ambulance arrived. After getting briefed by the officers on the scene, he walked over to Sherlock where the medical team was trying unsuccessfully to get him to go to the hospital.

“Good to see you in one piece, unlike last time,” Lestrade tried joking but the genuine concern on his face made it fall flat.

“I’m fine, can’t say the same for Moran though.” He turned to shoo away an offer of a shock blanket only to look back and find Lestrade still studying him warily.

Sherlock sighed. “So, how’d you find me then? Was it John with the GPS again? I don’t have my phone but I suppose he could have—”

“No, it wasn’t John.”

He nodded. “Mrs. Hudson then.”

“No.”

“Well, I can’t believe you did it on your own. Based on the Met’s unsuccessful attempts to track down Moran before now I don’t see—”

“It was Molly.”

“What?”

“Molly. Molly Hooper. She called us about an hour ago. Said you’d been rambling at Barts today, something about knowing where Moran was hiding. She tried calling you and when you didn’t answer she knew something was wrong.”

Sherlock stared into the blur of flashing police lights. He’d been so lost in his thoughts earlier he wasn’t quite sure what Molly had even heard.

Lestrade sat down next to Sherlock on the edge of the ambulance. “You’re bloody lucky, mate. I told her it was probably nothing. I mean you never answer my calls unless it’s for a case. But she wouldn’t take no for answer. She  _insisted._  Said that something in her gut told her that you were in trouble. She said you mumbled something about Brixton station and we were able to track you from there.”

“Oh.”

Once he’d taken his official statement, Lestrade insisted on giving him a ride back to Baker Street. For once Sherlock didn’t argue. He wanted to get home as soon as possible. The first thing he did upon arriving was to call Molly.

“It’s me. I’m safe.”

The sound of relieved tears on the other line made his heart catch in his chest. They remained on the line for a long time while keeping conversation to a minimum. He got the feeling that she didn’t want to hang up as much as he didn’t. It was only when he was sure she had fallen asleep by the sound of steady breathing on the line that he hung up after a whispered  _“Goodnight”._

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

“Oh bugger,” Sherlock exclaimed as the buzzer signaled his defeat. Alice squealed with delight at her second victory of the evening. 

The two had entered into a contentious game of Operation after Alice discovered it in the cabinet. No doubt  _dear_  Uncle Mycroft had tipped her off about the game as retaliation for all the defeats he had suffered at Sherlock’s hand. Alice had proved to be quite adept with the delicate maneuvering required. He couldn’t help but wonder if the game had any direct correlation with real life skills and a possible future occupation. But after the thought, he realized he was no better than his daughter for trying to plan her life for her and retracted the thought instantly.

Instead of initiating a third match, Alice drained the last sip of her cocoa and leaned back in her chair that faced his in front of the fireplace. “So you stopped Moran, or allowed him to defeat himself, and then what?”

Sherlock carefully lifted the warm teacup and took a sip as he recalled the memory. “Well, life returned pretty much back to normal. Lestrade got over his grudge of my handling of the Magnussen case and started allowing me to assist him once again. I also started taking on clients again. The public’s faith in me had never really wavered and stopping Moran brought me more new cases than I could handle. It allowed me to pick and choose only the most interesting cases, we’re talking sevens and above. John and Mary had their baby so I was working mostly on my own during this time. I was busy and happy.”

“But not  _really_  happy.” Her eyes narrowed.

“I probably wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, but yes, I suppose it was a bit lonely.”

“ _A bit_?” 

“I was quite busy. I assure you.”

Alice started to roll her eyes but a yawn interrupted her annoyance. Sherlock looked at the clock and saw that he’d broken another of his daughter’s rules by keeping her up past her bedtime.

“When did things start to change? I mean with Grandmum?” She blinked her eyes rapidly trying to force herself to stay awake.

“I think that’s enough questions for tonight, detective. You’re falling asleep on the job.”

“But you’ll tell me tomorrow?”

He stood and kissed the top of her head before leading her to her room. “I promise.”

While Alice brushed her teeth, Sherlock turned down the sheets on the bed and while doing so noticed a photograph on the nightstand that Alice had brought with her. It was of Sherlock, Molly, Alice, and her parents taken at Alice’s birthday party the year before. Sherlock was holding his grandson James and Molly was standing behind Alice with her arms wrapped around her. Sherlock and Molly’s son Will had taken the picture before they were all ready but it had turned out to be a great candid shot with everyone all smiles at a joke that had been told. He lay the picture back down before she came back into the room. After tucking her in, it wasn’t long before he heard soft snores coming from the room.

Even though he was also exhausted, Sherlock found it difficult to fall asleep. The bed was cold and lonely. Out of habit, he kept rolling over and reaching for Molly only to have his hand land against the cool sheet. He ended up tossing and turning for most of the night before finally falling into a fitful sleep. With thoughts of Moran on his mind, he woke with a start before the sun had even risen.

When he realized there was no chance of falling back asleep anytime soon, Sherlock threw on a dressing gown and headed to the kitchen to make coffee.

With a steaming mug in hand, he stepped out into the cool fresh morning air and watched as the sun slowly rose over the horizon. When the light had just begun to fall across the green hillsides, the click of the door made him turn around. A bleary-eyed Alice emerged and sat next to him on the step. Together they watched the changing sky in sleepy silence.

“How about some toast?” he asked once the sun’s rays had bathed them in warmth.

When he received an enthusiastic nod, they headed back inside for breakfast.

“How’d you sleep, Grandpa?” Alice asked with a yawn as she fetched the orange juice out of the fridge.

“Poorly I’m afraid. Can’t get used to the feeling of sleeping alone.”

“Was Grandmum the first person you ever had in your bed?”

The question nearly made Sherlock spit out his coffee.

“I, uh…well—” he stammered while running a hand through his hair.

“I know how it works, that there have probably been others,” she said with a sly look.

She was correct, of course, though he wasn’t quite sure  _how_  she knew, nor did he want to. There had a couple of forgettable one-night stands at uni but really before Molly there had only been one other significant person whom had ever shared his bed. This same person had later reached out to him with a word of advice when he’d needed it the most.

 

* * *

 

**2015**

 

She looked as if she belonged there. It’s what gave her away from a distance. She never simply  _was_  somewhere as much as she owned the space she occupied. She took possession of a place and made it hers. Everyone else was forced to conform to her will.

Though her altered appearance may have fooled anyone else, it didn’t him.

The woman sitting on bench watched him intently as he approached. Despite the risk she was taking, there was a casual ease about her with her crossed legs and a relaxed arm stretched out to her side. Her hair had been cut into a sharp bobbed style that barely skimmed the tops of her shoulders with a heavy fringe that framed her face. She wore a pair of large dark sunglasses that hid her calculating eyes. A leather jacket and dark jeans tucked into heeled boots completed the rest of the monochromatic look. Though her style had changed into a more informal look than he’d seen her in previously, he would have recognized that confident attitude anywhere.  _The_   _Woman_.

“Hello, Irene.”

She gave a small pout, before her lips curled into smile. “Damn it. I was hoping I might surprise you. And technically it’s Charlotte Frasier now.”

She patted the empty space on the bench next to her urging him to sit down. He did.

“Oh believe me, your little message did come as a surprise, considering that if anyone in this country knew you were still alive they could have you arrested at any moment.”

A single rose had mysteriously appeared at Baker Street that morning with a small card attached to it, just as it had when he was in the hospital after being shot. This time, however, the message had come with a request.

_Hyde park. Noon. Near the fountain. W._

He had always thought she might show her face again in London. Telling a woman like Irene Adler to stay away from a place was only the same as issuing a dare. It was too tempting for her to resist. She hated following the rules and would find any way she could to bend them according to her will.

“Oh, I’ve missed you, Sherlock, and your overwhelmingly positive outlook,” she said it with such dryness that it caused them both to exhale a laugh.

“But it’s true,” she said with a sigh, “I do miss this place.”

“So why are you risking your freedom to indulge in a bit of nostalgia?” He turned towards her looking for any clues that she had some sort of ulterior motive for bringing him there.

“I wish I could say it’s because of some spectacular revenge plot or government overthrow, but the truth of it is I’m here for work.” She lifted her hand to brush her hair away from her eyes and that’s when he noticed a small diamond ring on her finger. Naturally she noticed his reaction and smirked.

“I’m afraid I’ve become rather dull, Sherlock. Domestic bliss and all that.”

“New York must be treating you well.”

“I really shouldn’t be surprised, and yet…” she laughed and shook her head. “Alright what tipped you off?”

“Your accent is slightly altered from time spent in America, Manhattan to be precise. You’ve gotten used to dressing in black and have adapted a more casual look which fits the area and your new profession. Given your appreciation for fine things and your rather expensive clothing and the fact that you’re traveling to London on business I’m guessing you’re working in the entertainment or art industry.”

“Well done. I hate to admit it but I’m still impressed even after all these years.”

“But your partner,” he nodded toward the ring, “is not in the same profession. It’s a rather small diamond, not terribly expensive looking either. Someone that makes you rather sentimental.”

“Samantha. She’s a detective with the NYPD. Not surprising given my history with detectives,” she confessed giving him a devilish grin.

“Congratulations.”

She twisted the ring on her finger. “I own a gallery on the Upper East Side. We met at a showing a year and a half ago and have been together ever since.”

A jogger passed by causing them both to slip into a moment of a reflection.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” he asked confused.

“Have you asked out that petite little thing yet or are you waiting for someone to come and magically do it for you?”

Sherlock’s shoulders involuntarily tensed up which only urged Irene on.

“Just because I’m not  _Irene Adler_  anymore, Sherlock, doesn’t mean I don’t still have my ways of finding out all the juicy gossip. I know that you still quite dote on her and that she returns it. So the question is what are you waiting for, dear?”

He couldn’t look her in the eye anymore. “I don’t what you mean.”

“Sherlock, I know you don’t really believe in all that rubbish about sentiment being a weakness. That was all for show. I know because I’ve said the same things to myself my whole life. You and I are too similar, Sherlock. Perhaps that’s why we would never work together. Though we will always have that memory of Karachi, won’t we?”

“Ah. Yes.”  _Karachi._

It was one of few nights that he’d let himself completely give into his bodily desires. Looking back he realized that he’d ticked off a whole list of excuses that night: the adrenaline had been flowing in both their systems due to the fact that they both narrowly avoided death causing them to feel an exaggerated amount of sexual desire, the heat in the shelter they’d found forced them to strip down and the sight of her naked form had only added to his already growing sexual desire, and the fact that they had been alone in the middle of a desert with no one to disrupt or witness what happened made it all too easy. But the truth was that, despite all the excuses, he’d wanted it. They wanted each other, even if it was just for one night.

“You mean the night you stole my clothes and left me stranded in the middle of the desert.”

“I was thinking more about the sex, but yes, that too,” she teased. “We did have quite the time, didn’t we?”

He nodded unable to deny it. “Yes. Quite,” he said wistfully.

“It’s too bad that we would’ve been a complete disaster together.”

“Dreadful.” As great as the night of sex had been, that was all that it was. One night. One memory. They could part as friends and have no regrets as they moved on with their lives. 

“I never thought I could ever be in a committed relationship and yet here I am. It sounds so typical and horrid but when I met Samantha I just knew. This was it. This was the person. I’m happy.”

He turned his head slightly toward her and watched her stand.

“Don’t deny yourself that happiness, Sherlock. It’s not worth it. I hate to think of you being miserable here.”

She leaned down, put a hand under his chin and gently kissed him on the cheek. “Leave some room in your life for love, Sherlock.”

He watched her walk away, hips swaying and a confidence in her step.

He would see her once more, years later on a trip to New York, and the first words out of her mouth would be “I told you I was right, didn’t I?”

Always and forever  _The Woman_.

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

“Grandpa, what woman?”

“Hmm. What?” He spun around and found Alice standing behind him with her dirty dishes in hand.

“You muttered something about a woman.”

“Oh, um, just thinking about someone I knew a long time ago. That’s all.” He busied himself with loading the plates into the dishwasher.

“A girlfriend?”

“Not exactly. But we were…close.”

“Did you love her?”

“You don’t really hold back do you?”

Alice shrugged. “My teachers say the same thing.”

He didn’t doubt it and couldn’t help but felt a swell of pride at the thought of his small granddaughter challenging authority figures.

“No. I didn’t love her but she was an important part of my life. She gave me the nudge I needed when it came to finally asking out your grandmother.”

“So you listened to this lady and asked Grandmum on a date?”

“Well - no.”

“No?”

“Not right away. It took me a few months, but she got to start considering the idea.”

“You were scared?”

“Petrified. I’d never done such a thing in my life. I had no idea how a person did such a thing or where to even take her. I was only familiar with the methods that John had used and those were appallingly cliché. I’m not exactly a fan of the cinema or pubs or—”

“So how did you ask her?”

“Unfortunately I never really did come up with a good idea and I just sort of blurted it out one day. It was unplanned and just sort of…happened.”

 

* * *

 

**2015**

 

The solution to the case was within reach. If he was correct, and he was sure that he was, the stains on the fibres of the sofa cushion would tell him exactly whether Mr. Stevenson was telling the truth about the murder of his lover. Just a quick peek under the microscope, and it would soon be over.

But as he strode through the lab doors, the sight of her stopped him in his tracks.

Something was different.

“Oh, hey, Sherlock. What’s up?” She barely mustered a glance at him before returning her eyes back to her work.

Her long hair was down today and fell across her shoulders as she stood at the laptop.  _No that wasn’t it._

He studied the rest of her appearance. New trainers, trousers that were on their second wearing with traces of cat hair clinging to the fabric, a lab coat with biscuit crumbs on one of the sleeves.  _No, no, no. What was it?_

Perhaps it wasn’t anything to do with her outfit, but something  _felt_  different. He’d only seen her once since Moran’s death during a visit to John and Mary’s. They’d had a group of their friends over to see baby Sophia and in the crowded flat he hadn’t been able to talk to Molly alone. Their last phone conversation had been on his mind since that night, but he didn’t feel it was something that could be discussed at a party. He’d gone back and forth about calling her back and now finding himself in her presence he felt a sudden urge to— 

“Dinner.”

She looked up, clearly confused. “Sorry?”

“Dinner,” he repeated, before realizing that he needed to clarify. “I mean would you like to have dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“With me? Tonight?”

“Um…well, I can’t. I have a work thing. It’s Mike’s birthday, we’re all going out later.”

“Oh, right. Never mind.”

“But…I can Friday.”

“Friday? Yes, Friday. Good. I’ll…see you then.”

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you come to the lab just to ask me out?”

“Uh, no. There’s a case.”

“The Stevenson one?”

“Yes. I’ll just…”

“Right,” she said moving her computer over to allow him access to the microscope.

He pulled the evidence bag out of his pocket and removed the sample from the plastic so that he could put it on a slide. Just minutes before he had been so focused, but now his mind was completely distracted and he fumbled with the plastic.

He looked over at Molly who seemed entirely unfazed by what had just happened and continued on with her work on the computer.

“Molly?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant it as a…” he fumbled for the correct word, “date.”

“That’s generally what people mean when they ask someone out to dinner,” she said, amused.

“You really want to go out with me?”

“Sherlock, I’ve been waiting for years for you to ask. You were always busy when I tried asking you.”

“ _You_  asked  _me_?”

“Only on about fifty occasions. Remember all those times I asked you about coffee or trying out that new Indian place around the block. You were always busy with a case or something. I figured it would never happen unless  _you_  asked  _me_.”

His mouth hung open. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize—”

She smirked. “You know for being a brilliant genius about some things, you are completely dense about others.”

She closed the laptop and gathered up the papers that were scattered across the table. “I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes. Are you good here?”

He realized he was still holding the evidence bag in his hand and clumsily set it down on the table. “Uh, yes. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“Well then will I see you before Friday?”

“No,” he blurted before he could catch himself. “I mean, probably not, I’m,  _um_ , busy for the next few days. But I’ll call you.”

She smiled and nodded. “Talk to you later.”

It took about twenty seconds to prove that Mr. Stevenson was indeed guilty. Once he informed Lestrade of this fact, he immediately began work his next assignment:

_Where the hell was he taking Molly on Friday night?_

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

“ _That’s_  how you asked her out. Oh no.” Alice rested her hands on her hips, which in her oversized beekeeping suit only added an additional comic element. 

The two of them were collecting honey from Sherlock’s hives, something at which Alice had become quite the proficient at after her many previous visits. She was wearing Molly’s coveralls that Sherlock had made to fit by rolling up the sleeves and the legs. It gave her the amusing effect of looking like a giant marshmallow, but Alice seemed unfazed by her outfit and kept on grilling him as they worked.

He chuckled despite himself and shrugged. “Okay so it wasn’t ideal, but I’d never done it before. There was a time when you didn’t know about beekeeping and I had to teach you. We all have to start somewhere.”

Alice shook her head causing the hat to fall over her eyes. “I’m surprised she even agreed to it.”

“It wasn’t  _that_  bad.”

“It was pretty bad and you know it.” She gave a frustrated sigh and slipped the frame she had been inspecting back into the hive. “So anyways where  _did_  you take her?”

“It was just supposed to be dinner at Angelo’s followed by a small surprise.”

“ _But_ …?”

“I needed Mycroft’s assistance with this surprise so I ended up owing him a favour which caused a slight change to my original plans.”

“A slight change?” Alice suspected something and she was right.

“Well, maybe a rather large one. It turned out to be not quite the simple dinner I had promised her.”

 

* * *

 

**2015**

 

“But this is Buckingham Palace?!” Though he held the door open for her, she remained seated in the cab. 

“Yes, Molly, though I thought that was fairly obvious as we pulled up.” A cab behind theirs started honking forcing Molly out of the vehicle at last. The driver speeded off before she could change her mind.

“B-but when you asked me to go out for dinner I didn’t know you meant at  _Buckingham Palace_.”

“Oh. Well, actually we’re just stopping by for a bit before the main event of the evening. Mycroft insisted that I attend for some nonsense or another. I honestly don’t know what it is this time since I tuned him out for most of the conversation. Some silly award or knighthood or something,” he turned to give Molly a sly smile only to find her not at his side but several steps behind him.

“Molly?” He called out with concern as he retraced his steps.

She was frozen on the pavement, looking rather pale and giving him a vacant stare.

“Are you—”

“I’m fine,” she said too quickly before taking in a deep breath. “I’m just standing outside Buckingham bloody Palace in a charity shop dress and windblown hair and, knowing your brother, about to shake hands with the bloody Queen. I already had a glass of wine before meeting you because frankly I was a little nervous about tonight but that was nothing compared to  _this_ , and now I’m tipsy and trying to pretend that this is all completely normal. Like I said I’m totally and completely  _fine_.”

She’d been speaking so quickly that the end of the sentence faded into a whisper. It was serious enough that Sherlock worried she might hyperventilate, but after closing her eyes and taking in several deep gulps of air her breathing returned to normal.

“We can skip this. It’s really not that important. I may have to change the rest of tonight’s plans though. I was only going to this because I need Mycroft’s help getting us into…um...”

“Are you  _kidding_? I wouldn’t miss this for anything. I just wish-” there was that sigh again as she looked down at her dress. “I just wish I looked a little more, I don’t know…presentable and not so…ordinary.”

“But, Molly, you look… _beautiful_.” And he meant it fully, in every sense of the word.

Something about the night had felt special from the moment he had picked Molly up from her flat.

He had always thought of Molly as an attractive woman, not overly so that would garner extra attention or grace the cover of flashy magazines, but the sort that drew one’s eye and was pleasing to look at. She had rather delicate features and, he would never tell another soul this, but he always quite liked her upturned nose. Her face was symmetrical and fit the standard scientific measures of beauty. He liked her height and gazing down at the warm brown eyes that could tell him so much with just one simple look.

The woman who had opened the door of the flat was definitely Molly but it was a version of her that he hadn’t seen before. She wore a dark blue silky dress that had lace around the neckline and exposed the pale skin of her shoulders beneath. The smooth fabric hugged her curves revealing the hourglass shape that was normally covered in baggy clothing. Besides the one unfortunate Christmas party he’d like to forget, but never seemed able to, he had never seen her in a dress or in something so revealing.  Molly Hooper had a figure and a very nice one at that.

He had been vaguely aware of the Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and the sudden feeling that the floor underneath him was shifting. He couldn’t even remember what he’d said because his mind had been completely distracted.

Now that with the Palace looming in front of them and Molly’s apprehension about their location, Sherlock wondered if the whole idea had been a mistake.

“Okay. I’m ready,” she said finally walking up to him. Her jaw clenched and there was a fierce determination in her eyes. He knew from experience that when Molly made up her mind she didn’t waver.

“Really?”

She nodded and confidently looped her arm through his. They walked through the gates and were ushered through security.

The Queen was honoring British citizens who had performed courageous or outstanding acts in service of their country. Sherlock had been invited for tracking down and eliminating the threat of Moran. The idea was laughable considering that only a few short weeks beforehand he’d been about to be shipped off as punishment for doing the same to Magnussen. When he’d gotten the invitation in the mail, he immediately tossed it into the bin and ignored Mycroft’s threats of another house arrest if he didn’t go. But with the goal at hand of giving Molly a memorable evening out, Sherlock decided it was the perfect opportunity to use his brother’s power to his advantage.

All he had to do was behave for a few brief hours.

He had to force himself not to roll his eyes and hold his tongue during the whole affair. The unnecessary pomp and rules of tradition made him want to launch into a rant about the pointlessness of having a monarch in a modern age. When they’d entered the palace, he caught Mycroft’s glare from across the room and knew that if he were to do or say anything slightly disrespectful he would be thrown out immediately.

Luckily for his brother, Sherlock had Molly at his side.

“I can’t believe I’m actually standing here right now,” she whispered to him for the sixth time that evening. He had to keep tapping her on the arm to snap her attention back to the person speaking to them and away from the chandeliers and members of the royal family who were making their way around the room.

Seeing her reactions to everything made the whole evening worth it. He had to fight back a chuckle whenever she started rambling about autopsies at whichever important person they were introduced to. There was no one else who shared his morbid sense of humor quite like her. 

When they were introduced to the Queen, however, her nerves seemed to get the better of her and she could only speak in one-word answers. Sherlock managed a few polite words which seemed to please the older woman and noticed Mycroft sigh with relief across the room when she walked away laughing. No doubt his brother had expected the worst. Sherlock gave him a satisfied sneer of victory causing Mycroft to roll his eyes and walk away. He turned back to Molly and notice her blush had spread down her neck and across her shoulders.

“You okay?”

She looked up at him with a slight fear in her eyes and nodded. Then he tried something he’d never attempted before, he drew an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. Instead of pulling away as he feared she might, Molly leaned into his embrace and briefly rested her cheek against his shoulder.

He knew there would be no going back to their old routines after this. A line had been crossed in one brief gesture. The thought of simply being work friends didn’t seem quite as appealing any longer.

As the celebration started to wind down, he took hold of Molly’s arm and gently led her into an empty hallway.

“I have a surprise for you, but it’s not here. Is it all right if we leave?”

She nodded with relief. “I’d like that. Especially before I have another chance to embarrass myself.”

He smiled tenderly at her. “You were perfectly respectable. In fact, if it wasn’t for you this whole night would have most likely been a complete disaster.”

Taking her hand, he led them outside via several back doors. As they hurried through the palace getting lost at several points along the way, it gave the evening a bit of danger and extra thrills as if they were doing something illegal. Once they managed to find the exit, the cool night air did little to dampen the growing warmth in his chest.

He hailed a cab and gave the driver instructions before getting in so that Molly couldn’t hear the destination.

After unsuccessfully trying to get hints out of him, Molly sat back in silence and watched out the window as the city passed them by. In the reflection, he could see a grin on her face which gave him some reassurance that she was as excited as he.

But when the cab pulled in front of the large building a half hour later, Sherlock felt a strange nervousness take a hold of him.

“The Royal Observatory?” she exclaimed upon reading the sign.

He nodded tentatively and helped her out of the cab before paying the driver.

“I worked out a deal with Mycroft. I would go to his fancy, but extremely unnecessary, royal ceremony if he would get me free rein here. I hope it’s okay. I know you’re interested in astronomy based on the books in your flat and I—”

“Are you kidding? I love coming here, but I’ve never been when it's empty. Do we really get it all to ourselves?” He nodded and she exhaled excitedly. “First I get to meet the Queen and now  _this_?”

He wasn’t quite sure how to read her emotions until she threw her arms around his waist. “This is…amazing. Thank you. I must say you’re quite good at dates, Sherlock.”

Gingerly he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, enjoying the feeling of holding her for the first time before he reluctantly let go. “I, uh, suppose we should go in then.”

They spent the next few hours alternating between holding hands while exploring the exhibits and looking through telescopes into the far outer reaches of the solar system.

It probably would have been beneficial for him to actually focus on the information at hand considering it was an area at which he was so little acquainted, but he found he had a hard time taking his eyes off of the woman beside him. Seeing her reactions and wonder at the universe was more meaningful than any fact he could learn about the planets. 

Though they’d met the Queen and studied the stars in an empty observatory during their first evening out together, the detail that he would remember most, and Molly too as she would later tell him, was the gentle kiss they shared on the pavement outside her flat before parting for the night.

From that point onward, Sherlock found the subject of astronomy taking up a more prevalent spot in his mind palace.

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

“I can’t believe you took Grandmum to meet the Queen and acted like it was no big deal. Who does that?" 

He couldn’t prevent a small shrug of indifference. “It didn’t seem like anything special at the time. I could care less who the King or Queen is but evidently it matters to some people.”

They had finished collecting the frames that were full with honeycomb and had moved to the shed where Sherlock kept his beekeeping supplies. He held the frames as Alice scraped off the wax from the honeycomb. They then both loaded the cleaned frames into the extractor that would remove the honey so they could later fill their jars.

“So after that night you two were together?”

“It was the start, yes. We took things slow in the beginning, tested the waters so to speak.”

“Was everyone shocked when you told them?”

He let out a sharp laugh. “I don’t think I could’ve told anyone anything that would have been more shocking. There were, however, a few people that seemed to have already suspected it. One was Mary, and the other, surprisingly enough, was Phillip Anderson.”

“The same Phillip Anderson who ran your fan club? The one with the theory about you jumping off the roof with a bungee cord?”

“Let me guess you’ve read about him online also.”

“I found his website when I was searching for you. It’s really old, like the stuff in my school history book  _old_ , but all the theories from his Empty Hearse club are still up there.” 

“There was a part of his theory that probably wasn’t on that site. It involved a rather spectacular kiss between your grandmother and I after I jumped off the roof. He seemed to suspect our close relationship before it even started and to this day I still don’t really know how. I had always thought him to be a complete idiot from our days working on cases together, but after I heard his theory, though it was quite ridiculous, I was impressed with how he had managed to figure out about Molly being involved. Ever since then I saw him in a new light. He was still an idiot, of course, though less so.”

“And Aunt Mary knew too.” Alice nodded to herself as she thought. “I can see that. So she wasn’t surprised when you told her, but what about Uncle John? How did he react?”

“I don’t think I’d could have said anything that would have been more preposterous to him. It took him a while, I think he was more concerned for Molly’s sake, but he came around eventually.”

 

* * *

 

**2015**

 

“Is this a joke?” John asked after a lengthy, if a bit awkward, pause. He’d been bouncing little Sophia on his knee but had stopped suddenly after hearing Sherlock’s announcement.

“No, John,” Sherlock said taking a seat on the sofa next to Molly. “We are, well,  _we_ , I mean the two of us—”

“We’re together,” Molly said finishing for him.

John stared at them still frozen in place as Mary reached over to grab Sophia, no doubt fearing that she might fall off his lap.

“Congrats, you two,” Mary said smiling at the pair before turning to coo at her daughter.

John didn’t seem to hear. “Together? You mean like working together, right?”

“No, John,” Sherlock repeated, though more firmly than before. He took Molly’s hand in his so that it rested on his thigh and gave it a squeeze.

John’s eyebrows drifted towards his hairline. “B-but…you…”

Mary clicked her tongue and sighed at her husband. “Oh come on, John. Can’t you see they’re in love? They have been for some time.”

John’s head whipped over to his wife. “Wait,  _what_?” He turned back to Sherlock and Molly to have it contradicted but was met with an emotionless stare from Sherlock and an apologetic smile from Molly.

“Are their hidden cameras in here?” He asked looking around the room. “Is this some kind of prank you all are pulling?”

“I’m not exactly the king of practical jokes, John,” Sherlock huffed in annoyance.

John angrily shook his finger at his friend. “You fooled me into thinking you were dead for two years, so you don’t get to have an opinion right now.”

Sherlock turned towards Molly and shrugged. “He’s got me there.”

Molly’s face softened as she looked back at John, understanding the reasons for his confusion. “We’re really happy, John. Truly. You’ve probably known that I’ve always had a thing for Sherlock—”

“Yeah, but it’s  _Sherlock_. I’ve been through this before, when he was supposedly dating Janine. And my suspicions proved to be correct when I found out his motive was for a case.”

“This is not for a case, believe me,” Sherlock said.

John looked from Sherlock to Molly back to Sherlock and then to Mary. Mary gave a slight nod to her husband.

John’s slumped back in his chair as the realization finally set it. “I’m happy for you both, really, I just…it’s a bit of a shock.”

Mary laughed gently and turned towards the newly pronounced couple. “I think you’ve broken him and that’s not an easy thing to do.”

“So…” John said a bit awkwardly. “What happens now?”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked as his brow furrowed in confusion.

“I mean with you two.”

“Nothing,” Sherlock said shrugging still looking confused.

“He means that nothing is going to change all that much, at least for the moment,” Molly said squeezing Sherlock’s hand again. “We’ve discussed this quite a bit. We’re taking it slow, not rushing into anything too soon. We’ll be living our lives as usual only we’ll be just seeing each other a bit more outside of work. Things won’t change that much.”

“Oh,” John nodded. “Good. Good…” His voice trailed off.

“Except there will just be more snogging going on,” Mary explained matter-of-factly to her husband causing his mouth to fall open.

“Really, John, I think you’re overreacting,” Sherlock said firmly.

“I think I’m reacting in the most normal way possible given what I know about you and your past relationships. Oh wait, make that  _one_  relationship that turned out to be a complete fraud.”

“Don’t be too hard on John, Sherlock,” Molly said firmly. “I’m still getting used to the whole idea myself. I never thought in a million years that I’d ever be in this situation right now. And yet, I always knew that we would be good together. That’s what was always so frustrating for me.”

“I think it was Sherlock who needed to go through some things first,” Mary said in agreement.

Sherlock stood suddenly feeling uncomfortable by the direction of the conversation. “Okay, this discussion has been quite fascinating but I really think—”

“You mean you don’t want to talk about your feelings, Sherlock? I’m shocked,” Mary teased. “Well all right have it your way. You know what we should all go out sometime, like a double date.” She stood, lifting Sophia against her hip and headed to the kitchen to fill her empty mug.

“That would be great,” responded Molly enthusiastically as she followed her.

The two men sat in silence as their significant others chatted animatedly in the other room about the theatre and ice skating dates.

“So…” John said fumbling again for words, “this is happening.”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered.

“I’m happy for you, really, just a little stunned, that’s all.”

“Understandable.”

John gave a serious nod before a look of concern shadowed across his face. “But for the love of God if you so much as hurt her—”

“You don’t have to worry.”

“But I’ve  _seen_  you before – Janine, remember?”

“This isn’t like that time.”

“But—”

“John, it i _sn’t_. I couldn’t live with myself if I did the same to Molly. You know how much I’ve always respected and cared for Molly. I know she said that we’re taking things slow, and we  _are_ , but make no mistake, this is a long-term arrangement, at least for me it is. We haven’t talked too much about the future yet, but I’ve never felt so sure about anything else in my entire life.”

“You mean…marriage?”

“Well, I don’t know about  _that,_ but I have no desire to pursue any sort of relationship with anyone else.”

“You love her?” John asked softly.

“Yes,” Sherlock said without hesitation, only realizing later that it was the first time he’d said it out loud.

John shrugged. “That’s all you need then. I’m happy for you, mate.”

Sherlock glanced over at Molly in the kitchen who was now holding Sophia and bouncing her in her arms.

John followed his line of sight and gave Sherlock a knowing smile. “I never saw this happening, I’ll be the first to admit that, but—” he chuckled to himself, “now that you’ve told me, I do see it. I mean it’s going to take a while to get used to the whole idea, but you two…” He nodded slowly as he looked from Sherlock back to Molly. “Yeah, I see it now.”

“You do?” Sherlock asked as a warm feeling began to settle in his chest upon hearing his relationship validated, unnecessary as it was.

“I mean who else is going to put up with all the talk about corpses and weird science experiments at two in the morning.”

Sherlock smiled and looked back at Molly. “Not a single person.” All he could see now was the one person for him.

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

“So John eventually got used to it?” Alice asked in between slurps of soup. After the long morning spent tending to the hives, the two were indulging in a late lunch of tomato soup and cheese toasties. 

“It took some time, months in fact, for him to get used to seeing us together  _in that way_  but he eventually came around. I think when he saw how happy we were together, he couldn’t be anything but.”

“Did you guys double date then?”

“I wouldn’t call it that, especially since I loathe the term. We all just naturally spent a lot of time in each other’s company. John and I still worked on cases together and Mary and Sophia were over quite often.”

“When did you propose?”

“That came much later. Remember how I said we took things slow? Try several years.”

“That long?” Alice looked incredulous.

“Well, we didn’t want to rush into it.”

“You definitely didn’t do that, Grandpa,” she said with a sarcastic eye roll. “Okay so several years later you decide you want to get married.”

“I think I surprised myself even when it happened. I never intended to get married. Didn’t see the point. Then one day it all became clear. I realized it wasn’t about making it official with some legal document, it was about wanting to make a promise to Molly, to pledge myself to her for the rest of my life. The wedding was about making those promises to each other. I didn’t care about the silly things like the location or the flowers I just wanted that moment with her. And I’ve never forgotten that feeling when I saw her walking down the aisle. I just  _knew_  that it was meant to happen and it was the greatest feeling in the world.”

 

* * *

 

**2017**

 

When people asked for the proposal story, Sherlock and Molly didn’t really have an extraordinary one to share. There hadn’t been a grand romantic gesture with flowers or even a night out at a fancy restaurant. No trips to the Eiffel Tower or scavenger hunts to all the places in London they’d been together. Contrary to the other aspects of their lives, their engagement was simple and understated.

Molly had moved into Baker Street eight months after the start of their relationship. The decision was only natural considering that her possessions had been split evenly between the two flats and she was paying rent on hers while only spending half of her time in it. It had been the obvious next step.

At first there had been much to get used to when it came to their differing living habits. Sherlock liked to work into the early morning and sleep in late while Molly had to rise early for work and required more sleep overall. Unlike the rest of the house, Sherlock attempted to keep his bedroom tidy while Molly chose to throw her clothes onto every available surface until the piles grew to large forcing her to do laundry. Sherlock ate sporadically and usually ended up getting takeaway when he could no longer push away his hunger. Molly enjoyed cooking and eating on a routine schedule.

Gradually they became accustomed to each other’s quirks and routines and found a happy medium that suited both of their needs. But even with the contentment that resulted from having a partner to share his home—and his bed—with, Sherlock began to feel a growing desire for further commitment that failed to diminish no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

He couldn’t figure out the reasons behind these feelings. His relationship with Molly couldn’t have been better. He’d grown comfortable saying “I love you” and now didn’t even hesitate when Mycroft was in the room smirking at him. His bed was warm and his sleeping had improved by having her next to him. He’d gotten used to Toby and even enjoyed having a new feline companion to talk to when she was at work. He felt more focused and less distracted when he was working on cases and after a long day in the busy streets of London looked forward to returning home to her. He had everything he could desire and yet he felt an unmistakable desire for something more. He wanted to make  _a vow_.

Molly never hinted at a desire to get married. Sherlock assumed that after ending her previous engagement, she wouldn’t want to go through the same process all over again.

But the desire didn’t go away and Sherlock decided he needed to at least bring up the topic and try and gauge Molly’s feelings on the matter so that he might move forward with more certainty.

The breaking point occurred one night when he was working on an experiment in the kitchen and found his mind too distracted to focus on the delicate work at hand. If he couldn’t focus on his work, then it was time to find out her answer one way or the other. With a nervous ruffle of his hair, he set aside his microscope and wandered into the living room. Molly was sprawled across the couch in her pyjamas with a large bowl of popcorn in her lap and watching a science documentary on the telly.

“Come here,” she said lazily holding out her hand when he appeared at the doorway. “I haven’t seen you all night.”

Sherlock obeyed instantly and collapsed into the spot next to her. She’d just taken a bath and smelled like lavender and honey. He reached under the blanket that she’d thrown over the both of them and gently pinched her arm.

“Molly, I need to talk to you about something,” he said in a tone that made her turn off the television.

“Sure. What is it?”

“Marriage.”

She swallowed. “Marriage?”

He nodded and studied her closely. “Yes. Us. Married. What would you think about that?”

“Um, well…Wait, are you asking?”

“I’m merely curious to find out how you feel about the idea.”

She let out a small laugh. “I would love it,” she said sounding surprisingly relieved.

He couldn’t hide his amazement. “Really?”

Her warm brown eyes sparkled as she smiled gently at him. “Of course. I love you. I want to be with you.  _Always_. I mean, I’m happy with what we have now  _but_ …I’ve always had that feeling – that desire - to make it  _real_. I didn’t know how to bring it up to you because I thought you were against the whole idea.”

“Me? No. I thought you may be against it since your previous engagement ended abruptly,” he confessed feeling a weight being lifted.

She smiled and grabbed his hand with both of hers. “It ended because I was in love with someone else.  _You_ , you git. I couldn’t exactly get married to Tom when I was in love with  _you_  the whole time.”

“Oh.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get married because you thought weddings were irrational and unnecessary.”

“I did think that once, but now that I find myself in a…relationship my feelings on the topic may have changed.”

“ _May have changed_? So you mean you’re considering the possibility?”

“I’ve more than considered it, Molly. I’ve examined it from every possible angle and have found that I want nothing else. In fact, I’ve hardly been able to stop thinking about it. I want to marry you.  _Now_  if it was possible. I want to build a life with you. I want to spend my life trying to be the man you deserve. I want to promise you that there is no other person on this Earth that I’d rather have by my side.” 

Molly cleared her throat and blinked away the tears forming in her eyes. “Are you…asking?” she asked with a slight tremble in her voice.

“I…what would you say if I was?” His heart was beating rapidly and he found it hard to control his breathing.

“I think you need to ask me and find out.”

And so it was there on the Baker Street couch on a normal Tuesday night that Sherlock kneeled in front of Molly and became engaged to the love of his life.

They kept it a secret for a few days until a trip to Sherlock’s parents for the family antique ring finally revealed their surprise. The whole village knew before the day was over and they had strangers stopping to congratulate them as they drove back to London. Mrs. Holmes had even called the Watsons before Sherlock and Molly had a chance and when they returned to Baker Street they found a surprise engagement party awaiting them. When they walked through the door, Mrs. Hudson, already tipsy on champagne, cried and gave them hugs.

The wedding was held two months later at the St. Bart’s-the-Less church, a compromise after Sherlock’s initial suggestion of getting married where they first met - the Barts morgue.

“We can’t get married in a morgue, Sherlock. I mean people already think we’re freaks, we don’t need to be giving them any more reasons than we already have.” The tease from Molly had been given with a swat from a dishtowel that led to a snogging session in the kitchen and ended in the bedroom. When she woke the next morning with the idea for the venue, it was quickly agreed to and booked, though Sherlock would have married her anywhere.

That spring morning as he stepped in front of the church, a wave of nerves nearly overcame him. John must have noticed him pale because he put a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t faint on me, mate.”

He swallowed his anxiety and waited as the organ began to play.

The moment he laid eyes on her though, Sherlock found his clarity and the worries dissolved away. Nothing else mattered at that moment. There was no mystery, no unanswered questions, just a love that filled him with absolute certainty.

Everything else disappeared in the background. He barely even noticed Mycroft at her side walking her down the aisle. He could only see her.

They locked eyes on each other and smiled. His eyes filled with tears and he had to will himself to hold them in.

“Hey,” he whispered taking her hand when she reached him.

“Hey,” she whispered back.

“You’re beautiful.”

She beamed at him, her face glowing with radiance.

“You ready?”

She nodded.

In front of their friends and family, in front of John and Mary, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft and the Holmeses, Lestrade and his surprise date Janine, they finally exchanged their vows—the promise to love and cherish one other until their dying days and the pledge to spend every moment open to the possibilities that their love might bring.

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

“Grandmum looks so pretty in her dress.” Alice was thumbing through an album of their wedding photos and stopped at the ones of Sherlock and Molly in front of the church. In one of the photos they were both laughing as a gust of wind had blown Molly’s veil into Sherlock’s face and he struggled to untangle himself. Alice smiled as she ran her finger over the page. 

“She was indeed. And how about that rather attractive young gentleman standing next to her? He’s not too bad either,” he said with a wink.

“Eh, he’s okay I guess,” Alice giggled. “I’m kidding, Grandpa. You look so handsome and you’re obviously so in love with her.”

“Obviously.” He nodded.

When she had finished looking through the wedding photos, she returned the book to the shelf and grabbed the one that sat next to it.

“It’s Mum! She was so tiny.” Alice returned to the sofa and began looking through the album of her mother’s early years.

Sherlock sat down next to her. “She’s our miracle girl. Even though she was born premature, she was tough. Still is."

“Did you always want kids?”

“It wasn’t something I ever really thought about. Before your grandmother, it wasn’t really a possibility. Even when Molly and I got married, we never really made a firm decision either way. After a few months passed, we talked about it and found that neither of us was against the idea, but we still didn’t plan on it.”

“So you were surprised when Mum came?”

“Definitely. We both were.”

 

* * *

 

**2019**

 

There was a brief anxious moment of silence before he heard her respond, “Oh God.” 

Though he already knew the answer by the tone of her voice, he still needed to see the test to somehow confirm that his mind wasn’t playing tricks. Unless he saw the results it didn’t seem real. Walking over to him with the thin white stick held out in front of her, Sherlock received the proof he needed.

Two lines.

The test was positive.

His wife was pregnant.

They were having a baby.

Though this fact was easy to deduce, it took his brain what seemed like ages to process the information. From the look at Molly’s face it seemed as though she was having the same experience.

“Well, I guess we shouldn’t be too surprised considering how we’ve been spending our time.” His attempt at a joke failed to get a reaction from her.

“I know, I know. But I’m actually…we are…a  _baby_ , Sherlock! We are having a  _baby_!” She spoke slowly and deliberately, carefully sounding out each syllable as though she couldn’t quite believe the words she was speaking.

“Yes, so it seems. But you want a baby, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes of course I do. I just—” Molly stumbled backwards and leaned her back against the doorframe of the bathroom while taking in deep gulps of air. For a minute Sherlock was concerned that she might hyperventilate, but she quickly gained control of her breathing though her face was still pale. “Now that’s it’s actually happening…it’s just a lot to take in. I think I need to sit down.”

Sherlock took her hand and led her carefully to the sofa. Once she was sitting she became more relaxed. The colour returned to her face and though the dazed look in her eyes remained, she appeared to have recovered from her momentary faintness.

“I’m really happy,” she said as her eyes filled her tears and her upper lip quivered. “Are you, Sherlock?”

He kneeled in front of her and grabbed both of her hands wanting to wipe away any doubt she had. “Of course I am. We are having a child.” Saying the words started to make it sink in. He felt his own emotions start to give in.

“It’s just…what if I’m not going to be a good mother? I don’t know a thing about raising a kid. I don’t have hardly any experience with children.”

“You baby-sit for the Watsons.”

“But that’s only for a night at a time. What if I can’t handle the responsibility of being a parent?”

He sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder to draw her close. “You’re over thinking this. It’s natural to be afraid. We’ll learn as we go as any parent does with their first child, an experiment if you will.”

She raised her eyebrow at his analogy before nodding. “Okay. You’re right. It’ll be fine.  _We’ll_  be fine.”

He nodded in agreement and rubbed her arm.

“But… _holy shit_  we’re having a kid.”

Baker Street soon started to fill with new gadgets and furniture and tiny clothing in pastel colours. Sherlock became fascinated by Molly’s changing body and took careful notes on her progress. At night, he read to her from parenting books, adding his own commentary, until she fell asleep and then continued on his own into the early hours of the morning.

Everything proceeded exactly to plan until six weeks before her due date, as they were in the middle of assembling the crib, Molly went into early labor.

Baby Jane was born ten excruciatingly long and painful hours later and though weighing only four pounds thankfully had no signs of any major complications. After spending two weeks in the NICU, Sherlock and Molly brought their daughter to her new home at Baker Street. Later in the day as Molly got some much needed rest, Sherlock walked around the flat with Jane introducing her to her new surroundings beginning with Billy the Second, the skull Molly had given to Sherlock when she first moved into the flat.

Since she didn’t cry, he took it as a good sign.

“I think you’ll like it here,” he whispered, gently pressing his lips to her soft, tiny head. “I know I do.”

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

“Homework is done,” Alice proclaimed entering the room where Sherlock sat reading in front of the fireplace. “So you don’t have to worry about Mum yelling at you anymore.”

“Even the maths?” he asked raising an eyebrow.

“Even the maths,” she echoed as she tore open a packet of crisps and climbed into in the chair opposite him. “So now you can tell me about Aunt Emma. Was she another surprise?”

“Indeed. Perhaps even more so. We knew that we wanted another child, but we didn’t quite plan on it being so soon after the first. When Emma arrived we realized pretty quickly that we were going to have to make some big changes.”

 

* * *

 

**2020**

 

Emma Louise was born eleventh months after her sister on a warm June morning just as the sun had begun to filter through the hospital window. It had been another unplanned but not unwelcome pregnancy. Unlike her sister, she arrived only a day before her due date. The birth had gone much easier thanks to an epidural that Molly requested in advance after learning her lesson the first time around. 

Though they had been anticipating it, the return home from the hospital with their new addition suddenly made their situation more dire. Two adults and two young children living in a cramped two bedroom flat – it was certainly a less than ideal circumstance. Neither had really wanted to discuss the topic beforehand, but as they started to live with their choices the situation only grew more pressing with each day that passed. Molly was the first to bring it up after three months of trying to make do when it was obvious that it was failing.

“Sherlock?” She had a basket of dirty laundry balanced on one hip with Jane on the other. Her hair was falling out of her ponytail and the glasses on her face did little to hide her tired eyes.

“Hmm?” He was busy showing Emma to his entomology collection.

She took a deep breath before speaking. “Sherlock, I know you don’t want to think about it, but I think it’s time we… _considered_  the possibility of moving. I love Baker Street, this flat, you know that, but it’s not working anymore. Not now with two kids. And the longer we wait—”

“You’re right,” he agreed to her surprise. “You’re absolutely right. I suppose I’ve just been waiting for you to bring it up first.”

“Really? I mean you’d be willing to move?”

He nodded. She let the basket drop to the floor and hurried over to him. With his free hand, Sherlock drew his wife to his chest and kissed the top of her head. Emma gurgled in his arms.

He loved the close feeling of the four of them all together. As much as he hadn’t wanted to think about it, he knew it was the right thing to do. They could barely move around the flat anymore, as it was nearly crammed to capacity. Molly had tried to make it work because she knew what the flat meant to him, but it wasn’t fair of him to ask her to remain.

After the decision was made, it took them less than two weeks to find a flat and move. An old client of Sherlock’s whom he had proved innocent of a murder gave them a deal on a spacious three bedroom flat that had an advantage of being halfway between Baker Street and Barts.

Sherlock kept the Baker Street flat as an office for meeting clients and working in. He would often bring the children along when Molly went back to work. It wasn’t unusual for a client to discuss their case while a wide-eyed, blond-haired toddler watched at her father’s feet.

For his children, Baker Street would always be a second home.

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

“Okay into bed.”

After a bit of gentle prodding, Alice climbed into the bed but not without a grumble or two. “But Grandpa you haven’t finished the story yet. What about Uncle Will? And when you moved here?”

He pulled the blankets over her. “Patience, love. All will be told in good time. Young girls need their sleep, especially ones’ whose parents are coming back tomorrow. I can’t have you sleep deprived. They would never let me watch you again. And we can’t allow that, can we?”

Alice sighed. “I suppose not,” she agreed a bit reluctantly. “But can you at least tell me the next small bit, please? Just to help me fall asleep.”

“What are you trying to say? Am I boring you?” he asked ruffling her hair as she giggled. “Well, I suppose I tell you a bit more.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling sharply as the bones in his hips cracked. “After your Uncle Will was born I think your Grandmother and I knew we were done having kids. Three was the perfect number for us. Our family felt complete. I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories from your mother and your aunt and uncle about what it was like for them growing up with two parents who had, shall we say,  _unusual_  careers. Despite our initial worries, Molly and I managed to raise three happy, bright children. We were a busy family. There was always a lot of activity going on in the house. I suppose to outsiders we were a bit odd, but none of us cared about that. What mattered most in our family was the love and we made sure our children knew how much we loved them.”

Alice leaned back against the pillow and rubbed her eyes that were becoming heavy with sleep. “Mum said some of her favourite memories were hanging out with you at Baker Street and helping with cases. She said there was a nice old lady named Mrs. Hudson would always make them treats.”

Sherlock smiled fondly. “We did have plenty of good times at 221B even after we moved. I wish you could’ve met Mrs. Hudson. You would have loved her. As I did.”

 

* * *

 

**2032**

 

By the time little William arrived nearly two years after Emma, Sherlock and Molly felt like experts when it came to bringing home a new addition to the family. After successfully raising two young girls, the idea of a new baby was lost its intimidation and they settled easily into their normal routines.

The family managed to escape major disaster apart from for a few minor injuries including a broken arm for Emma after a fall in a dance class and a series of ear infections requiring surgery for Will. But overall they counted their good fortunes when it came to the health of their family.

At night as they lay exhausted in their bed, Molly often would comment on it.

“How did we get so lucky, Sherlock? I mean with our kids. They’re amazing aren’t they? Jane’s already memorized the periodic table, Emma got the lead role in her play, and Will is showing early signs of being a musical prodigy. How are they  _our_  children?” Her reading glasses slid down her nose as they always did when she peered at him over the frames.

He rolled onto his side, propping his head up in his hand. “There’s no such thing as luck. They just happened to have a very amazing and talented mother.”

“Well, their father’s not too bad either.  _Usually_ , that is,” she said with a teasing smile. “Sometime he’s an awful git.” He narrowed his eyes and in one movement rolled on top of her. She giggled underneath him as he nibbled at the sensitive part of her neck. The giggles turned to moans that were kept as quiet as possible due to the sleeping children who might hear. When they awoke in tangled sheets the next morning, there was a bit of a panic before Molly confirmed that she had, in fact, taken her birth control. The family was secure at five.

Before long tea parties and Smaug scene reenactments, Sherlock’s specialty, fell to the wayside and the three children grew busy with school and their other activities. Jane and Will shot up to their father’s height while Emma took after her mother’s petite side of the family.

Life became busy and fell into routine until one day when an early morning phone call brought their lives to a sudden halt.

A half-asleep Sherlock groaned at his phone which annoyingly vibrated on the nightstand. The sun had not even risen yet and he thought about throwing it across the room until he spied John’s name on the screen. His friend wouldn’t be calling this early if it weren’t something important.

“Sherlock, I have some bad news.”

As his heart raced, Sherlock listened as John told him about Mrs. Hudson being rushed to the hospital after suffering a major heart attack the previous evening. She was able to call 999 just as soon as the pain started in her chest, but though she was still alive the diagnosis wasn’t positive.

Sherlock related the news to a concerned Molly who had sat up the moment she heard the tone in his voice change. They woke their children and together the family went to the hospital as quickly as possible.

When they arrived, the news had not improved. In fact, her condition had worsened. Her small frame looked even frailer lying on the hospital bed hooked up a myriad of beeping machines. John and Mary and their children had just arrived just before the Holmeses and after a word with the nurse they stood around the bed and said their final goodbyes.

With a last bit of strength, Mrs. Hudson smiled and squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “My dear boy.”

After that she faded in and out of consciousness, her eyelids gently fluttering as she gazed around the room of people that loved her.  And only a short hour later, she was gone.

The funeral took place several days later. Mrs. Hudson had planned every single detail from the songs that were sung to the heaps of brightly coloured bouquets that filled the church. Sherlock and John shared stories about their years with the older woman to an overflowing room of people that loved her. While sharing their memories, there was both laughter and tears from those listening. At the end of the service, they each put a hand on the casket before carrying it out and took a moment to say goodbye to their not-a-housekeeper.

A few days after the funeral, Mrs. Hudson’s lawyer contacted Sherlock regarding her will. To his surprise, he found out that she’d left the building at Baker Street to him.

Sherlock Holmes was no longer the tenant of 221B. Instead, he was now the owner.

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

“All packed up?” Sherlock asked looking up from his newspaper as Alice raced by the kitchen. 

“Yep. I’m all ready,” she called out as she set her backpack by the front door. He could hear the seashells inside clinking together.

“I think your parents should be here in an hour or so. Molly just called and said they’re about halfway.” He stood from the table and poured himself a mug of black coffee before fetching breakfast for his granddaughter.

Alice pulled out a stool at the kitchen counter and sat. “Great, then that’s enough time for you to finish the story. I mean like how did you end up here?”

Sherlock poured a bowl of Weetabix and set it in front of her along with the container of milk. “The older Molly and I got, the more we felt an urge to move to the country. I always wanted beehives, but living in the city prevented that from happening. Luckily I had many other interests to keep myself occupied. As I took fewer cases however I found myself with more time on my hands and a need for a place to pursue those interests.  Likewise your grandmother always dreamed of painting, but her career forced her to put that dream on pause. Once we both retired we decided to finally make the move.” He paused and pointed to the walls covered in paintings of sunsets and the evening sky, Molly’s favourite theme. “It was hard saying goodbye to London, but we knew that we would be returning often to see all of our children and grandchildren and Sussex isn’t that far away. Leaving Baker Street behind was one the most difficult decisions. It was such a big part of my life, still is. Even though we still technically own it, we knew it wouldn’t be the same once we moved. But I was able to leave it in good hands which gave me peace of mind.”

 

* * *

 

**2049**

 

The flat was the emptiest he’d seen in the forty odd years that it’d been a part of his life. The space looked almost double the size without all of his clutter crammed into every nook and cranny. He’d left a few pieces of furniture including the kitchen table and the sofa for his new tenant with the rest stored away in the upstairs room until he would have to make the difficult decision about whether to sell the remaining bits or not. Thankfully the new tenant would be the sole occupant and did not require a second bedroom allowing him to hold off on the verdict for the time being.

Looking around the room he felt the distinct tinge of sentiment tugging at his inmost being. It was ridiculous considering he wasn’t giving up the place entirely, only momentarily letting it out. And yet he felt sadness knowing that it would never quite be the same.

Fortunately the doorbell sounded bringing him out of his reverie. He checked his watch. Punctual as usual.

Grabbing the small box that contained the last of his remaining trinkets, he gave the room one final long look-over before heading down the stairs to answer the door.

“Archie,” he said welcoming the man into the flat and giving him a firm handshake. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Thanks, Mr. Holmes,” the young man replied keenly with a slightly nervous smile.

Sherlock clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Please, we’ve gone over this. Call me, Sherlock.”

Archie grimaced at his mistake. “Sorry. It’s just hard to get used to calling you that after all these years.”

Sherlock’s face warmed and he nodded. Archie O’Connor, the boy he’d first met as a page boy at John and Mary’s wedding, was now a tall, young man in his thirties. His curly mop of hair had long ago been cropped short and his lean frame filled out after many hours spent in the gym, though his mischievous smile remained the same.

“How’s the job going?” Sherlock asked as he remembered the man’s announcement the previous time they’d met for coffee.

Archie’s eyes lit up as they always did whenever he talked about work. “Great! Did you see it on the news? We just solved that Robinson murder. Nabbed the bloke responsible just as he was getting on a boat at Cardiff.”

Archie had just been newly promoted to DI with the Met after years spent tirelessly working his way up through the ranks. The Robinson case had been his first at the helm. Sherlock had been his long-time mentor and upon hearing the news of his success he’d felt a swell of pride for the young man whom he considered to be a sort-of protégée.

“Congratulations. It was well deserved after all the hard work you put in.”

Archie tried to shrug it off though he clearly enjoyed the praise from his teacher. “Well, I learned from the best. Thanks…Sherlock. I mean it.”

Sherlock gave a firm nod and reached into his pocket. “And now for your next assignment, watching over this old place,” he said holding out the keys to 221B.

Archie’s fingers clasped around the jingling metal and squeezed them tightly in his palm. “I’ll take good care of it. I promise. I know how much it means to you.”

Sherlock looked around the hallway. The wallpaper was peeling off in spots and the paint chipped along the doorframes. It probably needed a bit of freshening up but he hadn’t the heart to change it himself. Archie had been given permission to fix it up as he wished as long as he kept the integrity of the space. “It’s treated me well all these years. I know it will for you too. You won’t find a better place to call home in all of London.”

He turned back to face Archie. “Make sure to keep me updated on all the happenings around here. You’re my eyes in the city now.”

“I will,” Archie replied with a touch of sadness.

“Well…” Sherlock exhaled and gave Archie’s shoulder a firm pat, “I suppose it’s time. Goodbye then, Archie.”

The younger man surprised him by giving him a tight hug. “It won’t be the same here without you. The criminals are probably breathing a sigh of relief right now.”

“You’ll do fine. Besides I’ll still be in town from time to time. Got to make sure the Met stays on their toes.”

They said their final goodbyes and Sherlock walked out of the door for the last time as the occupant of 221B.

Excited as he was to start his new life with Molly in their southern coastal cottage, he still felt a bit wistful it as he gazed up at the old building that had been the site of so many happy memories.

“Goodbye old friend,” he said softly before getting in the waiting cab and driving off to his next adventure.

 

* * *

 

**Present day**

 

“And that’s the story of how we ended up here." 

Alice drew her hands under her chin and rested her elbows on her thighs. Her forehead wrinkled as she thought.

“So good story?” he asked with amusement.

The serious expression on Alice’s face relaxed into a smile. “Yes, Grandpa. Great story.” The furrow returned to her brow. “But something’s missing. The flat is empty right now, isn’t it? What happened to Archie?”

“Ah, so you’ve noticed,” Sherlock went to the mantle and retrieved a shiny metallic envelope which he held out for her to see. “Archie’s getting married, hence the reason for him moving out. We just received our invitation in the mail last week.”

“So what’s going to happen to 221B if no one’s living there?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Funny you should ask that…”

The sound of a car pulling up into the driveway interrupted him. Alice ran out the door to greet her parents and baby brother, and Molly. Sherlock lingered behind, leaning against the doorway and watching his family with fresh eyes. After Molly had given her granddaughter a hug, her eyes found Sherlock’s and she gave him a smile that lit up her whole face. He returned it with a wink, feeling the love for his wife nearly unable to contain. How was it possible that he could feel for her even more after all these years? That something already filled to capacity could continue to expand and overflow? Science couldn’t explain it. Much like the theories of space and time, it remained a mysterious question for the human brain to seemingly forever wrestle with. 

Molly made her way to the door and wrapped and an arm around his waist. “Hey,” she said quietly.

He wasn’t satisfied enough with the one-arm embrace and drew both of his arms around her waist looking down directly into her eyes. “I love you, Molly.”

She answered him with a kiss. “And I love you.”

Jane cleared her throat behind them forcing them to pull apart. Molly took James from her daughter’s arms and led both he and Alice inside.

Sherlock greeted his daughter with a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hey Dad,” Jane answered. “So how did everything go? Is the homework all done?”

“Of course,” Sherlock answered with fake jest at the question. “You know how I lay down the law.”

Jane snickered. “I know from experience that you are a big softie at heart. My concern is that you let my daughter walk all over you. But I hear that everything went well with no major calamities, so I suppose I can’t complain.”

Sherlock put his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve got an incredibly intelligent daughter, Jane. Try not to worry so much about her future.” He looked at Stephen who stood behind her. “She has great parents to guide her through life. She’ll do just fine.”

Jane nodded. “I know. I just want to make sure I’m giving her every opportunity, you know? Like I had.”

“You already have,” he said looking her squarely in the eye. He turned back to Stephen feeling a need to do a better job showing his appreciation for his son-in-law and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You both are doing just fine.”

Stephen couldn’t hide his surprise at the kind gesture. “Thanks, sir.”

Sherlock straightened and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “So how did everything go in London?”

Stephen looked at his wife who nodded. “Good. Everything’s all in order.”

“Excellent,” Sherlock exclaimed before leading them inside.

Alice overheard the last bit of the conversation and looked at them confused. “Wait, what’s going on? What is everyone talking about?”

Sherlock walked into the room and motioned for his granddaughter to have a seat on the couch. Everyone else followed suit as well. “Well, Alice, the story I’ve been telling you isn’t quite finished yet. Your parents and your grandmother went to London for a very important reason. We decided to keep a secret until it was official but now that time has come.”

Alice looked at each person in the room for answers as she was still confused by what was happening.

“Your grandmother and I have decided to sell the Baker Street building.”

“What? No! You can’t,” she cried out as she stood. He could see the instant tears start to form in her eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet,” he said tenderly to soothe her fears. “We decided to sell it…to your parents.”

Alice’s mouth fell open.

“You are going to be moving to Baker Street. As you already know your parents were in the process of looking for a new flat, something closer to both your school and their jobs. Molly and I had been trying to decide for a while what to do with the place since it’s been vacated and when the topic of moving came up one night it was quite obvious what should be done.”

When the initial shock wore off, the tears returned to her eyes once again.

“Really?” she asked her parents not quite believing what was being said.

Jane bent down in front of her daughter and wrapped her arms around her. “It’s true. We’re moving, dear. How do feel about it?”

“I-I can’t believe it,” she said still in shock.

Sherlock went to the closet and returned with a box that was filled to the brim.

“As a little housewarming present, I’ve gathered up a few of my old things that you might find useful for your new home.” He began pulling items out to show her. “Some of my old chemistry supplies, fingerprinting equipment, my old lock-picks—do be careful with those—bits of my entomology collection,  _and_ …”

With a bit of a flourish he pulled out his old deerstalker hat and, after shaking off the dust, set it on Alice’s head.

Alice pulled it off and looked at it in amazement before rushing over to give Sherlock a hug. “Oh, thank you, Grandpa. Thank you.”

“You have to promise to take good care of the place. It’s very special to me.”

“I will. I promise!”

He kissed the top of her head.

Later in the day, Alice and her family said their goodbyes and headed back to the city to pack for their new home.

“So did you have a fun weekend?” Molly asked as they stood in their front yard waving at the car until disappeared from view.

Rather than answering, Sherlock wrapped his arms around his wife. The feel of her against him was overwhelming. Like her favorite poet Keats described,  _touch_  indeed  _had_   _a memory_. Reliving all of those memories with his granddaughter had only seemed to strengthen his attachment and his need for her.

“Let’s go for a walk down to the beach,” he said taking Molly’s hand and giving it a firm squeeze. She squeezed back and nestled her face against his chest.

“Sounds perfect. You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed it here. I’d forgotten how noisy London is.”

Hand-in-hand they strolled slowly down the grassy lane.

“What did you and Alice do while we were gone?”

“Well first she did her schoolwork because you know how strict I am about that sort of thing,” he said teasingly.

Molly laughed and gently smacked his shoulder. “Yeah, you were never good at that.”

He chuckled. “And we did some beekeeping, cooked a bit, played a few rounds of Operation at which I was beaten quite soundly, and did a fair bit of storytelling.”

Her head cocked to one side. “Storytelling? Don’t tell me you did your performance of the alternate ending of the Hobbit where Smaug wins.”

He shook his head. “It seems our granddaughter has quite a curious nature, especially when it comes to the stories of her grandparents?”

“Oh?”

Sherlock nodded and briefly related the bits that he’d told Alice. “Of course I couldn’t quite cover everything.” He paused. “Do you remember that time when I was using my riding crop on a corpse—”

“My former co-worker, bless his heart,” she interrupted.

“Which you then proceeded to ask me out for coffee?”

“Of course I do. I remember it like it was yesterday.”

He paused in his tracks causing Molly to follow suit. “It’s funny because I just remembered that after I’d said goodbye to John and Mike I went back to the morgue only to find my riding crop missing. To this day I still have no idea what ever happened to it.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Molly said matter-of-factly causing Sherlock to raise an eyebrow. “I stole it.”

“You  _stole_  it?”

“As revenge for being such an arse about the coffee.”

It was such a minor detail but he was astounded to find out after all these years that his wife could still surprise him. “But you never told me.”

“Well a few days after I started to feel a little guilty about it and so I dropped it off with Mrs. Hudson to return to you.”

“But she never did.”

Molly pursed her lips as she thought. “Perhaps she kept it all those years.”

“Well then I’m glad I never found about it until now. I’m scared to think what she might have used it for.”

Molly laughed until tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

There was something about the light from the setting sun that fell across her face giving it a warm glow and the breeze from the ocean blowing her soft grey hair that made him suddenly cup her face in his hands and give her a long lingering kiss.

“What was that for?” she asked breathlessly, a playful smile on her lips.

“For not realizing sooner what was in front of me all those years ago and for all the time I wasted while I was trying to figure out my feelings.”

She brought a hand to his face and ran her thumb across his cheek. “You know what? I wouldn’t change a thing. We’re here now because everything happened the way it did. We didn’t rush it. We  _both_  had to figure things out first. I needed the extra time too. It helped to create the foundation that we have.” She paused and a mischievous gleam flickered in her eyes. “Besides, we have all the time in the world right now to spend any way we wish.”

“And there’s no one else I’d rather spend it with.” He smiled and kissed her again.

One day, hopefully not anytime in the near future, Sherlock Holmes would cease to exist. It was a fact. There would be a day when not even Molly with her cunning and skillful maneuvering would be able to rescue him from death as she had in the past. Though he didn’t desire that moment to arrive any time soon, he had accepted that it would one day. In the past he might have feared it, but now he was comforted by the fact that his family would remain and carry on his legacy and Molly’s while at the same time creating their own. It gave him an immeasurable amount of joy to think about his granddaughter being raised in his old home where she would create her own new memories.

He took Molly's hand and as he led them on looked up at the darkening sky above them. A few stars were already visible. Just like him, their light would one day burn out. But from their dust would form new stars that would light up the sky for the next generations to come. 

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a five-month-long labor of love (and occasional frustration). I could probably continue adding to and editing this for several more years but alas, the deadline has arrived and I must set it free into the world.
> 
> First of all, thank you to the mods artbylexie, asteraceaeblue, and mizjoely for all their hard work that went into organizing this challenge!
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta readers superwholockian2108 and WayTooEasilyObssessed for all their help turning my scribbles into something readable!
> 
> Again thanks to rebka18 for the artwork! I still can't believe someone drew something for a story of mine!
> 
> And finally thank YOU for reading!


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